Shy
by Friendly Feanorian
Summary: Of all the peoples of Middle Earth, the half-elven suffer the greatest of griefs, yet have the highest of destinies. So many secrets brought into the light. Reflections from others along with some shock revelations. Restoration does not come without a price or effort. Some Silmarillion crossover. PLEASE R&R!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. No disrespect to Tolkien or his characters are intended.**

**Shy**

**Part 1: A Dancing Lesson**

"An elf who does not dance has let part of himself die."

Elrohir flinched slightly at these words from his teacher. Then tried to stop. Elves do not flinch. It surprised him how many of his old habits carried forward, even after the change. Having the human part of himself changed by the Valar had been an unnerving experience, but necessary, they assured him. Nothing mortal can survive in the immortal realm. Physically, he felt as if his whole body had had its strings re-tuned. But it was taking some getting used to. He looked away from his teacher's eyes. He had failed again.

"No, do not look away. You must learn to dance. It is unnatural for an elf not to dance."

Elrohir allowed himself a shallow sigh. It was so much easier for him, with his effortless grace and dazzling beauty that so reminded him of Galadriel. He had never had any different awareness of himself. There was a prolonged silence and Elrohir realized that his teacher was studying him. Grey eyes met the sapphire blue ones and were held there for a long minute.

Abruptly, the teacher stepped behind him and clasped both his upper arms. Elrohir felt his centre of balance shift slightly onto his toes.

"Better. Though how you expect me to follow your movements properly while you are so heavily clothed is a mystery to me." There was a hint of derision in the teacher's voice.

Elrohir stared directly in front of himself, feeling a stab of discomfort. He began to regret agreeing to this 'physical therapy' as part of his healing. The other elf's ease in little more than breaches unsettled him. Yet since coming to Lorien and Valinor he had noticed that many of the others who sought healing also went lightly clad. It was all so easy and yet so difficult.

He heard a voice at his ear. "You can no longer use your Edain heritage as an excuse. You are fully elf now. And elves dance."

Elrohir shuddered and tried to pull away. This degree of closeness from a near stranger still felt awkward to him. Perhaps he was not ready for this…

"You _are_ ready. And I am no stranger – I am your very own kin. Your mother's mother's brother. I gave all I had so that your forefather could be born. You do not need to fear that I will harm you." The other's tone was injured or at least feigned to be. Elrohir felt a pang of regret. Finrod, known as 'Felagund' and 'Friend of Men' and brother to Galadriel, did deserve better than mistrust from him.

"It is a strange thing to get used to a body that is different from before," he offered by way of apology. "My limbs feel different. Better and stronger, but strange."

His companion nodded, his thick hair bouncing.

"That is quite understandable and reasonable. But it is not the reason that you do not dance. Did you not dance as a child?"

"Yes, but childish dancing is not suitable for adults."

"Why not?"

Elrohir thought for a moment. "An adult would look clumsy and silly dancing like a child. Others would mock him."

His kinsman nodded. "Has anyone mocked your dancing in the past?"

"No, but I expect that they might. I cannot match the skill of the elves – other elves – in this art."

"Who will see you?"

Elrohir glanced around. They were alone. If anyone was hiding and watching, they were hiding well. But there were plenty of trees that might conceal an elf skilled in wood lore…

"There is no one else here but you and I. Do you expect _me_ to mock you?"

"No. But I may disappoint you with my lack of skill or speed. I may not be able to keep up with you." He heard his voice drop. That was another of his old habits. He scolded himself silently.

The other pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. "We shall see. You are able to read my surface thoughts as well as I read yours? Good. Then you should have no trouble following my movements. I will lead and you follow."

Elrohir felt a sharp jab of the heel of his teacher's hand in the centre of his back, causing him to stand tall. He grunted in protest, but hands grasped his shoulders and pulled them back so that he felt as if his chest was sticking out unnaturally. He spread his arms automatically, but his balance did not need assistance. Swift hands gathered his hair into a horse tail. He gasped as the other tied it with a leather thong, an unbidden tear rising. His hair was released slowly.

"Did I tug your hair too hard? Forgive me." There was a softness in his teacher's voice now.

"No," Elrohir replied. Old memories swam to the surface. He pushed them down. "I am unused to anyone touching my hair."

"Then who styles your hair for you? Or rather, who did before you passed west?"

"My brother. But that is different."

There was a small chuckle. "You think I am so unskilled in this minor art form? I have practiced on my own brothers, millennia before you were born. Or is it a custom that has died out in Middle Earth?"

Why must he ask so many uncomfortable questions? "No… That is…I did not concern myself overly with my hair. There was work to be done…"

"That is not the real reason."

Arms circled his chest from behind. The tear that he had held on the edge of his lashes escaped and landed on the other's forearm. After a long time, his kinsman spoke.

"When was the last time you fell behind your elf-kin in skill or speed?"

"When I was a youth."

"When was the last time anyone mocked you"

"When I was a youth."

"When was the last time you danced?"

"When I was a youth."

"When was the last time someone tugged your hair?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: As above.**

**Shy Part 2**

**Memory**

Elrohir relaxed, choosing a spot on the ground to rest. He was surpised to see his teacher doing the same.

Elrohir turned his head to look at his puffing companion. He was lying on his back on the nearby wooden bench, limbs draped over the seat and arm rests, his pale hair splayed out around his head, and his cheeks a faint crimson. Elrohir laughed.

"I thought you were a good dancer?" he taunted. "Yet your strength fails you!"

His friend looked at him and smiled.

"It is good to hear you laugh, my kinsman," he responded. "Even if it is at my expense." He made a face of mock indignation.

"Forgive me, Uncle." But he could not stop smiling.

"Very well, I will forgive you…this time. But in restitution I will ask you to indulge me with your company for a short time longer."

Elrohir nodded and they both rested for a few minutes.

"You have made very pleasing progress over the last few lessons, my young kinsman," his uncle continued. "For someone who insisted that he could not dance, it is outstanding. You are good enough for a performance!"

Elrohir shuddered and stared at him.

"…but I will not insist that you do so," he continued with a smile. "There are plenty of dancers to entertain the citizens of Valinor. Come, sit with me a while and talk. Tell me of Middle Earth and its people. It has been long since I saw it for myself."

Elrohir pulled himself up and wrapped his cloak around him again as his body started to cool. Although it no longer distressed him at all, even to be very cold, he found warmth comforting. His companion also pulled a light cloak around him and sat up making room for him on the bench.

"What is it that you wish to know?" he asked, sifting through his more recent memories of Gondor, Minas Tirith (he expected a degree of interest in a city so named) and Rohan.

"I wish to know about the last time someone tugged your hair."

Elrohir was glad of his cloak as a chill suddenly gripped him. A memory swam to the surface but he quickly submerged it again.

"No!" his uncle exclaimed. "You must stop doing that. Memories must be faced, just like the one of the day your mother was taken. It is part of the healing. Your own soul knows this and the memory will not go away until you face it and defeat it."

Elrohir knew his uncle was right. The memory of his mother's attack was still vivid, but it did not evoke the horror it once did. After that struggle, he had slept for six hours and awoken feeling lighter and cleaner than he had in a long time. But for that experience, his brother had been with him. A shared memory could be faced with another, but he had no one to share this other one.

His uncle leaned slightly closer. "You do not have to do this alone. I will come with you."

Elrohir had not realized that this was possible.

"It is a gift of the senior Eldar," he explained. Elrohir was reminded again of whom he was dealing with. "I have some skill with it. Enough I think." He reached for Elrohir's face, cradling his jaw with both hands. Blue eyes pierced grey ones. "You must not pull away. To interrupt the process will be jarring and could cause us both injury. Are you afraid?"

"Yes."

"Then remember that these events are not happening now. It is in the past. Nothing will harm you. I will not allow it. Are you ready?"

"No."

Uncle smiled. "Let us do it anyway."

_He found himself looking through much younger eyes at Caras Galadhon. He felt again the wonder and awe. It was the first time he had been to a city._

_He saw his brother nearby and felt his emotions wash over him as well. His mother smiled at him – young and joyful. Then he saw Celeborn and Galadriel – Grandmother and Grandfather as he had called them in his youth. They greeted the party from Rivendell warmly. His mother spoke:_

"_Elladan and Elrohir are eager to learn with the Marchwardens."_

_Elrohir noticed a flicker of concern cross Celeborn's face. That should have warned him, but he was still young and fancied that the whole world held nothing that could or would harm him._

"_That could be arranged," Celeborn nodded. "I will send Haldir to you on the morrow."_

_His anticipation hightened. He had long admired the Marchwardens of Lorien. So like the ledgendary Marchwardens of Doriath that he had heard so many tales of. His ancestor, Dior, would be so proud…  
_

Elrohir gasped and tried to disconnect. How could he ever have thought this way? That his brave and honoured Uncle could see this…

_Do not pull away! A voice said at his ear. _

_The scene had shifted. He was dressed and waiting as eagerly as a puppy for the marchwarden who would give him the opportunity to work as a scout and explore the borders of Lorien. He might even see some orcs or trolls_._ He looked to the direction of the voice._

"_The others cannot see me, but I will be here with you," Uncle said. He was standing behind him and a little to one side, able to see everything but not stop anything._

_Haldir had arrived and was looking him up and down. Elrohir found himself studying his shifting feet. He glanced at Elladan. He was looking uncomfortable, as if suddenly asked to bathe in public._

"_Each patrol only accepts one new recruit at a time – to spread the burden of teaching. Elladan-" he didn't seem to be addressing Elladan, but both of them- "you will come with me. Elrohir you will join Rumil's patrol."_

_Separately? But they just didn't do things separately. Not ever. He began to explain, but Haldir did not seem to hear him._

"_Come this way."_

_He left the open doorway moving so quickly that the two young recruits had to jog to keep up.  
_

Elrohir heard his uncle speaking at his ear: "That did not seem overly kindly. Separating twins is unusual, unless it is for specific teaching, but it may be that Haldir felt he had a good reason. Those who train for this kind of service must be hard on their students. Weak or poorly trained scouts get themselves killed."

Elrohir nodded. He understood that now, but as a youth it had seemed cruel.

_Rumil was obviously less than pleased to receive an addition to his company. He scowled at the youth, looking him up and down critically. Elrohir was beginning to feel that something about his person displeased these elves._

"_Keep quiet, keep behind and keep up," Rumil's words felt like a slap._

_Elrohir determined to do his best as he always did. He was sure that it would be more than enough…_

_Three days later he knew it wasn't. He wished himself back with his mother and brother at least ten times a day. His footsteps were too noisy. His tracking skills were inadequate. His eyesight was too poor for lookout duty, as was his hearing. His sense of balance was poor – he had been unsteady on the river crossing. Even his breathing was too loud. Rumil did not seem to find anything about him favourable. He glanced at the other patrol members, but their faces were turned away from him. He sat alone and munched on a corner of Lembas. Even that seemed to irritate Rumil. Elrohir settled back against the trunk of a tree but did not attempt to sleep. He would take his turn keeping watch no matter what the others thought._

_Something challenged the stillness shortly after sunset. It could have been a bird or a fox. He sat up and glanced at the other guard. The elf had his chin to his chest and was breathing deeply. It was probably nothing, anyway. _

_Then he noticed the smell. Like month old cabbage. That was no forest animal._

_He lept to his feet and prodded his nearest neighbour with his boot. The elf stirred with a scowl, until he also noticed the smell._

"_Orcs," his neighbour hissed. Then listened. "At least five. A band of escapees from Moria, no doubt." He spat. "They will not see daylight."_

_Rumil, like the others, was already on his feet and gesturing for the others to fall in behind him. Elrohir took his appointed place at the rear. When Rumil gave the order to spread out so that they could ambush the orcs, he slipped into the shadow of a great oak, but he craned his neck. This was just what he was hoping for – his first sight of an orc. The quarter moonlight made it difficult to see clearly. His companions were little more than grey shadows. They waited as the oblivious orcs scuttled into the trap._

_Just as Haldir was about to give the signal, one of the orcs paused. Then it sniffed the air. Its eyes widening in shock it screeched a warning to the others. There was no more time. The elves had lost the advantage, but they attacked savagely, shooting the first two orcs and pursuing the others as they turned to flee. Elrohir was not going to have anyone say of him afterward that he had held back…_

_A confusion of blurry shapes buffeted him long before he estimated that they had caught up with the orcs – or could he have misjudged it? He hesitated, trying to be sure that he was not in danger of harming his companions. A willow branch slapped his face._

_And then it happened.  
_

"Do not falter now, my dear kinsman. This is not happening now. I need you to tell me what happened next."

_Pain burned his scalp, like he had just been doused in boiling water, causing him to gasp. His hair was caught on something. But this tree branch had an extraordinarily strong grip. He felt burning heat spread as part of his scalp started to bleed. He failed to keep himself from crying out._

"_Silence!" hissed a voice. "Do you want to give us away completely?"_

_He felt a heavy blow against his lower leg. A crack that he both heard and felt. His leg buckled and he fell in a heap, biting his wrist to keep silent. Complete darkness fell.  
_

"This is the last thing I remember," he gasped. His uncle dropped his hands from his cheeks and the connection was broken. But he remained silent.

"I woke up slung over a horse with Rumil complaining about having to carry my useless hide back to base," Elrohir continued. "When we finally got back to Caras Galadhon I think Celeborn suspected something. He questioned Rumil at some length, but either the elf kept his mind well guarded or he sincerely did not know what happened. I still don't. But I know that if an orc had been close enough to grab my hair I would certainly have smelled him. It took a while for my scalp to heal. I had to go about with a bandage on my head as well as a splint on my leg for weeks. The leg gave me no more trouble, but every time anyone other than my brother tried to touch my hair I imagined that I could still feel it stinging."

His uncle still did not speak for some time. Elrohir studied the arm of he wooden seat they were using. He hoped that whatever discipline his uncle felt appropriate would not be too severe. Elf lords did not fail at simple scouting.

Instead his uncle cupped his chin and lifted his face to meet his gaze. Elrohir was struck by the likeness to Galadriel's gestures it was. Unlce smiled, his blue eyes searching sorrowed grey ones with more undertanding than he had expected. "You are not to blame for your injuries. The shame is for all of us who are fully elven and yet know how to be cruel like the orcs. No wonder you preferred the company of the Dunedain..."

Elrohir felt a great weight lift from him.

Uncle sighed and continued, "...elves have little understanding of the needs of others. It was always our biggest weakness when dealing with other races. It took the half-elven to teach us. Praise the One for bringing you to life."

Uncle became lost in memories of his own, but Elrohir heard no more as sleep overtook him.

…**to be continued…**


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer, as above.

A bit of reflective drabble. Not too long. Does not form part of the main narrative.

* * *

**Interlude**

Since I have taken up my old life in Aman, the role I have enjoyed most has been that of healer. Many exiles have returned in need of healing. It takes a special knowledge and a sharing of their experiences to care for them well. This I have in abundance. Or I thought I did. There was one group of people for whom I learned that my wisdom was not nearly as adequate as I thought.

The others, Earendil and Elwing had their own purposes and spent little time with other citizens of Valinor. It is not of them that I wish to speak.

I have had the very great privilege of observing and knowing the House of Elrond Halfelven.

Long had I anticipated their arrival. Having met my own Sister-daughter I could hardly claim ignorance of their existence. She spoke of little else than her husband, twin sons and daughter. Her longing for them to join her fueled my curiosity also.

The father arrived first – serious, wise, soft-spoken and immersed in sadness.

I thought of my brother, Aegnor as he is called in their world, and wondered how things might have been had he married Andreth. Standing before me was a living image of what their child might have been like. Oh, he would have looked different, maybe golden haired instead of deep, raven black, but I wondered if their son might have had that same shyness about him that made him draw his eyes away from me a little but with a smile and a nod. Or the alert and penetrating mind that made him look around at his surroundings with such awe. What would he have done in the world? Would he have moved the very foundations of middle earth to overthrow Sauron? Would he have been brave enough to sacrifice his own heart to restore its kingship?

I'd like to think so. But something tells me otherwise.

Aegnor was afraid to marry his love for fear of the consequences. He was too afraid to answer the call of his heart. And his son was never born. Instead, others had to be brave enough to pay the price, so that Middle Earth could be saved.

At first, I had purposed to become well acquainted with this lore master who had seen and done so much, who had both won and lost everything. But after seeing him standing so forlornly in the stern of his ship, I realized that I was not worthy. Not unless he deigned to approach me, which he did not. He had more than enough distraction from the likes of me. My sister Galadriel – for so she likes to be called now – noticed me watching him. She turned my face towards her with one hand and shook her head gently – _Not yet. You will have plenty of time to make his acquaintance later_.

I can't imagine how it must have felt to be reunited with his love, only to have to bear to her the news that her babes were not with him. As she dissolved into a near hysterical fit of tears, I felt a tear slide down my own cheek. I had been right – the halfelven would know the greatest grief and suffering - but it gave me no pleasure. His feet faltered slightly as he followed the summons to Valinor. At the time I wondered at this, thinking he suffered from some soul affliction. But my understanding of his kind was incomplete.

Later, Elrond and his lady consoled each other and I had nothing that I could offer them except an unwanted intrusion so our friendship remained at a shallow level. We had all the time in Arda to wait for an appropriate time for the discussions of what passed in Middle Earth, the brightness of its realms now controlled by humans and what it was like to have Atani blood in your veins.

It was during one of our infrequent visits in Eressea, when we were interrupted by an urgent message. Only one thing is urgent in Eressea. Another ship. More returnings. I immediately leapt to my feet with joy – as we all did – but Elrond was even quicker than I. I found myself trailing after him, while praying that this was not a false hope.

I was not disappointed for his sake. Nor my own for that matter. This ship also brought joy to my sister, who was reunited with her beloved Celeborn. I was glad to see him also. He looked as tired as an atani, yet joy lit his eyes. After embracing both his wife and daughter together he stood aside so that they could see who was behind him.

I had lost sight of Elrond. He was already on the ship itself embracing two tall hooded figures, their heads resting on his shoulders. They clung to each other for such a long time that I wondered if they had been caught in some enchantment of the Valar. But this was not merely an expression of joy, but of shared grief too deep for words. It occurred to me then that the halfelven have an additional grief to being sundered from kin. One that had not occurred to me until now.

That of loneliness.

In all of Arda, there were no others quite like themselves. No wonder they clung to each other so desperately. No wonder the severance of a sibling or child brought such grief.

They parted at last and I got my first glimpse of dark hair and pale countenance. Elrond spoke to them before they disembarked. They nodded anxiously.

It was actually Elladan who disembarked first, cautiously, as if not sure that the pier was made of solid material. On shore, I noticed the tension in his shoulders immediately and the slight swaying as if the earth had delivered him a small lightning shock. I noticed that his brother seemed to be experiencing something similar.

I became afraid that both of them might need assistance so I approached. I placed a gentle hand under Elrohir's elbow, startling him apparently for he rewarded me with a sharp glance and tried to pull away. I perceived his thought: he was nervous of strangers. Most exiles were. I cursed myself for being so thoughtless. But then I caught an impression of something else. Part of him – that is part of his body – was rejecting his surroundings. The other part of him – most of him – was trying to synchronize itself with the new pulse of life here as an elf normally would. This other part almost succeeded, but not quite. The overall affect was dizzying and disorienting. He managed to find a reasonable sense of balance so that he could walk, breathe and keep his heart beating. It was a remarkable effort and I felt my heart ache for him.

I smiled at him, "Just keep steady. I will assist you. You do not need to speak."

He nodded acquiescence, briefly meeting my eyes for the first time. It was then that I knew that I must be his friend in this strange new world that was his rightful home.


	4. Chapter 4

**Exception**

Elladan trotted to keep up with the figure ahead of him. Father had never been slow on his feet, but he was now feeling the challenge of trying to catch him. Elladan ducked behind a tree when his father paused, cursing himself silently. The slight turn of Elrond's head told him that he was well aware of pursuit. Elladan smiled and stepped out from his hiding place, walking towards him.

"My son, your skills are slipping. I was aware of you before we left the house."

"Why then, did you not stop me before now?" Elladan puffed. He did not normally care for subterfuge.

"You wished to know where I was going. And I felt inclined towards some company."

Elladan felt his face relax into a smile. He realized how much he had missed his father in the years they had been apart. He noticed Elrond incline his head towards him.

"Come," he invited. "I wish to introduce you."

They proceeded along the narrow but well worn path weaving through tall pines. Elladan spotted an elf-lord standing by the path ahead. Uneasiness tugged at him. This one was very tall, fair, but stern looking. A cascade of reddish hair fell about his shoulders. Elladan waited for his father to hail this elf-lord, but instead he approached him brashly and gave the fellow an uncharacteristic smirk. The elf-lord did not move or even make any sign that he had seen them. His eyes remained fixed on some distant point. Elladan felt relieved that he was ignoring his father's insolence.

"Elladan," Elrond announced. "Please make the acquaintance of the likeness of Lord Maedhros, son of Feanor."

The elf lord still did not move or indicate that he had heard or seen them. Elladan took a cautious step forward. Surely this was some kind of trap… The elf-lord was surely waiting for them both to be close enough before drawing a sword…

Elrond glanced at his son and laughed. "Do not fear. He is little inclined towards violence of any kind."

Elladan approached, ready to make a quick duck if necessary. Then he sighed explosively and straightened. This elf-lord's eyes remained still as glass, his chest frozen. Even his hair did not move in the breeze.

"They are unnervingly lifelike, are they not?" Elrond said as Elladan stepped up to the figure. "I remember him a little differently, of course. Older. Grimmer. And with only the one hand. He used to frighten us sometimes, but he was not unkind to us deliberately. "He sighed."It is strange to see him here like this. I presume this is some of Nerdanel's work."

Elladan huffed. He was not sure if he cared for the elven-lady's taste in humor.

"But this is not the one I have come to see so often. This way." Elrond led him further down the path where another elf – this one dark haired – was seated on a rock in a patch of sunlight, with a harp. They seemed to have come upon him while he was lost in some deep melody. His eyes were nearly closed and a gentle smile warmed his face. He was less beautiful in features than the first figure, but more dazzling in the joy he expressed. Elladan found himself drawn to this figure. He could almost hear an echo of music. The peaceful expression on the harper's face did make it hard to imagine him with a bloody sword in his hand.

"I wish I could have known him when he was like this," Elrond sighed. "So young and joyful. So unmarred. But then, he may not have been inclined to notice me." He reached forward and cupped a hand to the joyful cheek. "I almost wish to see him again, even full of grief and pain as he was. I tried to convince him to ask the Valar for mercy, but he let himself be persuaded otherwise. I find it difficult to recognise him as the perilous rebel others encountered. I miss the gentle, loving elf-lord I knew, who would gather me onto his lap entertain me with nursery songs. I miss his music and his laughter. It is easy to imagine him laughing and singing when you look at this image. That is why I like to visit it so often. I like to remember him this way."

"As do I," a resonant female voice interrupted. Both father and son turned.

A woman as tall as Galadriel had approached them hesitantly from behind, having taken the same trail as they had. Long reddish hair brushed her shoulders as she stared at them intently with wide eyes. Elladan drew back a step, noticing the tension in the woman's shoulders and the trembling hands at her sides. She responded by stepping towards them, turning almost sideways.

"Who might you be?" she quavered.

They bowed politely. Elladan looked around for possible escape routes. He made a silent prayer for some kind of intersession from having to engage with this woman. Strangers made him uncomfortable at the best of times, but this woman made him feel like he had fallen into a freezing water trough. He was grateful that his father spoke:

"Lady Nerdanel, we meant not disrespect to your work. On the contrary, we were enjoying them. I knew your first and second sons well. And I loved them. I wish I could have known them when they were younger, before all the…events."

She seemed to think that through. Slowly. Her eyes darted over their clothing and hair. "You are Elrond," she said, then turned to Elladan. "And you, by your looks are one of his twin sons." She smiled faintly. "I had twin sons. Perhaps you would like to see their likenesses."

Elladan bowed. "I would be delighted, Lady, if you would permit it." He hoped that was polite enough. He watched as she began to wring her hands. He thought that she might crush at least one of them.

"They are at my house. I had them moved there. You must come and visit," she indicated back the way they had come.

Elladan looked at his father. _At her house? Tea and cakes with the wife of Feanor?_

Elladan hoped his father had a good excuse prepared. If not, perhaps one of the great trees would oblige by opening up and swallowing them. Elrond cleared his throat and began to speak.

"Lady, Nerdanel," a crystal voice glided towards them. "How kind of you to have located just the two I was seeking."

The lady turned like a startled deer, but said nothing.

A tall elf-lord was approaching, but this one had pale hair. Elladan remembered the elf from the dock. He took an involuntary step backwards. This was the great Prince and King of Beleriand, Finrod Felagund. He bowed, but the newcomer waved a hand impatiently.

"Elrond and Elladan, I was seeking you both with good news. Elrohir is ready for home and family. He is waiting at your house."

Elladan's heart nearly leapt through the top of his chest. He glanced at his father.

Nerdanel made a little noise. "We must have a visit another time," she said, looking away from them. "After you have visited with your brother. Twin brothers should not have to be apart for too long." She smiled thinly and continued along the path without waiting for them to bow.

They watched her go.

"It is sad," Finrod said after a while. "Nerdanel is innocent of the events that took her family from her, yet she suffers as an outcast, as do the others who were left behind. She is a shade of the woman she once was."

"Others?" Elrond frowned.

"Yes," the golden haired elf nodded in the direction of the singing statue, "The one you call Maglor left his young daughter behind with her mother, since she was but a child and Maglor expected to return before long. They live in the family house in the street that all the Feanorions used. You did not know?"

"No," Elrond said staring where Nerdanel had disappeared around a bend in the track. "He never told me that."

Elladan frowned for a moment, watching his father, but his mind was unreadable. So instead he stored this strange new information in the back of his mind, where it could be examined properly later. He had other more important considerations. Elrohir was home!

* * *

"Elrohir, I have recovered the rest of you kin! Come and make welcome!" Finrod boomed from the front door.

Elladan longed to push past him, but dared not offend this strange, tall one who insisted he was their kinsman. He had been anxious for his brother for weeks. For some reason, he had needed extra attention from the healers. Even Finrod himself. He mentally prepared himself for his brother's explanation, clearing other, less important information from his mind.

Elrohir did not immediately respond, so it was surmised that he had retired to the garden.

The house was certainly a well appreciated gift from Earendil. Any fears for how well they would be provided for had quickly been allayed. A small house in Valinor to accommodate their visits and a larger one (and much more comfortable one, in his opinion) on Eressea. He looked forward to returning to the other house, but this one was quite adequate, with several private rooms, a common room and a rooftop observatory. Unlike many of the other houses, it also had a small walled garden. He was correct in his guess. Elrohir was resting on one of the wooden seats and his mother was beside him, her pale hair starkly contrasting his jet black mane that she was determinedly combing. His eyes were closed, but he opened them and they both stood as they approached.

Elladan enveloped him in an embrace almost tight enough to crack some ribs. Their father and mother joined them with a laugh. Elladan wanted the moment to never end, but they were interrupted by their forgotten guest.

"The children of Luthien are easily seen," he interjected with a smile. "All have the same dark hair with telerin features. You are indeed, the heirs of Thingol and Melian."

There was a silent moment. Elladan was surprised to see the big fair-haired elf still there. He couldn't wait for that private talk with his brother…

"My apologies, Lord Finrod," Celebrian gasped finally. "We have neglected our guest. How rustic you must think us."

Finrod did not seem offended. In fact, Elladan detected a hint of amusement in the slight twitch of his lips.

The elf-lord became serious. "It is good to see both Elladan and Elrohir back in full health. But now the time comes when I must tell you of another two who have been in my charge, another mother and father who, even as they returned to life here, have pined for their lost children, their bliss incomplete. They long to see what became of their twin sons who were so cruelly taken from them. The powers informed them that their sons, having been deprived of life so young, had been re-born to another family where they could enjoy their childhood fully. Rare exceptions, for most who pass to Mandos are rehoused here in their adult form. But it would have been too cruel to deprive them of the experience of childhood."

Elladan shifted uneasily and glanced at his brother. Elrohir swallowed and grimaced.

"Elladan-Elured and Elrohir-Elurin, it is time you met your first parents."

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**Re-Revision folks. Turns out that Dior and Nimloth had been in Aman for some time after all. Although, Dior is still much changed from his time in Mandos. He would have needed it!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Duty**

"You have betrayed us," Elrohir turned his back on his uncle and stared at the back wall of the garden.

There was silence for a long time. He did not dare look around to see his uncle's reaction. Instead he heard his father's anguished response.

"You seek to take my sons from me?" Elrohir had rarely heard his father's voice sound like that.

Elrohir expected an immediate response: some kind of denial from Uncle. But there was no sound for a long time.

"Elrond, my friend, the last of the line of the Halfelven, that is the last thing I would do." Uncle's voice shook. Elrohir had never heard him speak like that either. He turned back towards him.

The pale haired elf-lord looked as though someone had slapped him, though no one had. Catching Elrohir's eye, he placed a hand on his shoulder. Elrohir did not have the heart to push him away. Encouraged, Uncle reached for Elladan, but his brother would not come within reach. He stood looking at their uncle, a prince of Valinor and hero of Beleriand, with a mixture of shock and fear…and a degree of anger.

"Believe me," the prince began, "we cannot present you at Father's court, with a listing of all your names, without first making your peace with Dior and Nimloth. It would be a scandal."

Elrohir shrugged. "Why must our old names be used?" He felt a cocktail of anger and fear building up within his own chest. "Why must anyone know? Let the lost princes of Doriath stay lost. _And why do we need to be presented at court?_ We have no interest or liking for such things. Pomp and ceremony was more to the liking of our sister …"he stopped and swallowed hard, not wanting to upset his father even further.

Finrod sighed, "In answer to your first question: it is traditional and would be disrespectful to omit any of your names. Second: It is already too late. Dior has already marked you both as you stepped off the ship at the Bay of Eldamar." He paused, sadness shadowed his face. "He said his heart nearly leapt out of his chest when he saw you. So well grown. So strong and beautiful…"

Elrohir gave him a sidelong look.

"…as all children are to their parents, whether they actually are beautiful to other's eyes or not, or whether they think so of themselves." He grinned. "And it cannot now be avoided. If you are to be properly introduced to Valinorian society…"

Elrohir was beginning to have difficulty breathing, as if the walls of the little house were closing in, the doors and windows too small for escape.

"We do not much care for such things," Elladan interrupted. Elrohir could detect a faint note of alarm. It was unlike his brother to speak out of turn. "Outdoors, forests and free running rivers are more to our liking. We have never lived in a city of stone. The very thought of being cooped up in a building – however magnificent – with so many strangers probing and prying is abhorrent to us. Let your courtesans find their sport elsewhere."

"You speak carelessly, young prince," Uncle's pale countenance suddenly seemed to darken and his voice took on a firmness Elrohir had never heard before. "For so you are and you cannot escape your duty. To simply run off into the woods would be a great offence. My Father has already publically declared an interest in meeting you – all so that you could live and move about here freely as full citizens of Valinor. Did you think you could just sail in on a boat and all would be well and good? Many people here a wary of exiles returning. And you two are like nothing anyone has ever met. Not even in Elrond or Earendil. Twin brothers, rehoused through birth _and_ descendants of lost ones. To reject the people of Valinor would be unseemly and uncouth. It would seem that you are unfit for these lands."

Elrohir looked at his father and mother. There had to be some other way...

Elrond shook his head. "I cannot put Elladan and Elrohir through such an ordeal. You ask too much."

"As I have already explained, Elrond," Finrod turned to him. "There is no other way without making things far worse. They must be presented properly at court. They must have all their names announced. If you want to avoid harming someone _I hold dear_, you must all first make peace with Dior and his wife."

Elrohir heard the emphasis in the last few words. The others were also looking at Finrod expectantly.

"Why do you look at me so?" he asked. "He is the son of Beren son of Barahir, as dear to me as my own child. At my bidding, he has kept his distance from Elladan and Elrohir, for his first impulse was push through the onlookers to embrace you – forgive him, he is still young in many ways. He has no wish to cause upset or to supplant anyone's natural affection, but he longs to know his Elured and Elurin. To offer rejection would be cruel, especially to deny him publically by omitting your names at court. Can you not find a little room in your hearts for a newly rehoused elf who suffered so much pain in such a short pre-life and so long in the halls of Mandos?"

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"Is there no peace to be found for us, even in Aman?" Elrond paced the sitting room.

They were finally rid of the elf-lord, Finrod, but Elladan was feeling more unsettled than ever. He and his brother sat together by the unlit fireplace. Elladan felt his brother's hand stray into his. He gave it a gentle squeeze. Elladan descended into deep thought, searching through buried memories and impressions. He must have some memory that would be useful. He sensed his brother with him. Conversation filtered down to him from considerable height.

His mother spoke: "We can't really have expected to keep it a secret for ever, Elrond. This day had to come."

Elrond stopped pacing and looked at her, then nodded. "Sometimes it seems as if I have lost so much, that I expect I will lose what little I have left."

"They were ours second, my husband. No one is taking anything from us that was ours to begin with. And your self-pity will not help them."

Elrond gave a sigh. "Forgive me." He paused. "Do you remember that first day? When we discovered that twin speak was not merely an infant's game?"

She laughed. "That their 'private language' was in fact Doriathin? I thought mother would faint."

Elladan could not imagine that anything would make his grandmother swoon. As he recalled the occasion, she had swept them both into her arms and held them so tightly that it was difficult to breathe. She had wept over them. But she had not fainted.

Elrond came over to the cold fireside, bringing them back to full awareness with a palm against each jaw.

"My sons, it is a strange circumstance we find ourselves in, and not of our making. When you were young, there was no reason to reveal your past identities. Anyone to whom it mattered, already knew." He managed a tiny smile. "And I know how much you loathe that kind of attention. Being halfelven, maia kin and twins making you enough of a curio. I have never even asked you: How well do you remember your pre-life?"

"I have little memory of either people or place," Elladan said. "I have tried to remember…but we were small. Not more than six sun-years. It feels like a dream of a half day's picnic to a strange land long ago. I cannot imagine what we will say to these people or what they will say to us. I fear what they might ask."

Elladan felt his brother shudder slightly.

Their father looked defensive. "Do not answer any questions that you do not wish to," he said. "You are grown adults. You do not have to answer to their demands."

"Why would they make any demands of them?" their mother asked. They all looked at her. "Imagine that they are parents also. Would they wish their children harm, any more than we would? But it would not hurt to be prepared. There is always that question: Did you suffer? Yet it is the question that no one wants to hear the answer to. How will you answer that one?"

Elladan thought carefully. He looked to his brother for confirmation. Elrohir nodded slightly.

"We will tell them the truth," he said. "We will tell them that we did not die in the snow covered wilderness. That tale was probably told to protect our captors from the anger of an interrogator. Our spirits left our bodies when over zealous guards punished us for their Lord's death a bit too severely. No doubt they were unaware that their rough handling could kill children not fully elf-kind. I suspect that it was our bodies that were abandoned in the forest, making anyone's search completely useless…" he trailed off. He thought of the tall, red-haired sculpture he had seen earlier that day. Strange how easy it had been to imagine him with a sword in his hand, but less easy to imagine him desperately searching for two lost children: an action no less noble because it had been futile. In spite of everything, he surprised himself with sudden warmth of gratitude towards this son of Feanor. Now if he could feel that, why could he feel nothing for the murdered King of Doriath and his queen?

He looked at Elrohir again, waiting for another nod.

"We will go to them," he said trying with a fair degree of success to keep bitterness out of his voice. "If for no other reason than to please our overlord."

Their father looked as though he was about to protest.

"Father," Elrohir had found a shaky version of his voice. "Will you make the arrangements as soon as possible? I think delay will only make things worse. And…" he glanced at Elladan, "I think it might be well to consider Dior and Nimloth. It would be natural for them to be at least curious about us. What reason do we have to treat them cruelly? As the Lord Finrod says, they have had much cruelty already. I do not wish to be the one to deal out more to them. There is enough cruelty in Arda already."


	6. Chapter 6

**Please note minor re-revision to chapter 4, as noted at the bottom of the page**.

**Also note additional material at the end of this chapter**

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**Second Interlude**

There is so much I wish to tell you both, yet I am completely at a loss for anything to say. You are my sons, but I hardly know you. You have learned to call another 'father' and I have no right to ask otherwise of you.

The first thing I asked after I awoke was "The children. Where are the children?" At first no one answered me. Nimloth, my beloved, was next to me, but the children were not there.

When he came – the one you called Finrod, who gave his life for my father – he told me that Elwing had survived – at which our hearts rejoiced – but the boys had been reborn to another family in Arda. This was done in order that you could make your choice of kindred. Beyond that, he knew nothing.

My heart sank. I looked at Nimloth, your mother. She looked pale and sad. Had we lost our boys forever?

"Perhaps not," Finrod explained. "Their fate is as yet uncertain. A choice can only be made in mortal lands, for a child born in Aman would have no other possibilities. Neither should they have missed out on childhood. So they were reborn to another of your house, in what is now called Middle Earth. They still have to make their choice as to which kindred they wished to belong to."

I swallowed, my new throat feeling strange. My choice lay with the elder kindred. I had effectively made it when I had wed Nimloth. I certainly had no desire to be parted from her! So the point of marriage had become my choice, whether I realized it or not.

I imagined you, my boys, so like my mother. So like me. Dark haired, grey eyed and sparkling with life. Now you had a new set of parents. Would you still remember us? Would you love your new parents better? I asked Finrod, but he had no answers yet.

We waited. So many long years. Nimloth often wept for you. I held her and stroked her silver hair. I tried to say reassuring things, but as the years wore on and more ships returned without you, I began to despair. In any case, after all this time, you would know your new family better. What could we offer you?

It was without much hope in my heart that I went to see the last swan ship from Mithlond. Nimloth had given up long ago, dissolving into tears every time we were told another ship approached. So many times have we been disappointed. So it was only I who watched, without much hope. Waiting for twin boys – no men! – with dark hair and grey eyes and the beauty of Luthien Tinuviel.

I stood beside my mentor – for so I call the one you would know as Finrod – intermittently studying the mosaic set into the cobbles and waited for yet more disappointment. Two silver haired elves, one with a long beard he was so old. I realized I knew the other one. Lord Celeborn, whose wife Galadriel had arrived here some time ago. I smiled to myself: How old he must be! But I lost interest in him very quickly.

There you were. Two tall men – so tall! You were wearing hoods and cloaks, but I knew you. I felt sure that my heart would leap out of the top of my chest. I could not yet see your faces, but I recognized your presence like a part of my own body. My spirit called to you so loudly that I was surprised that you did not look in my direction. I leapt forward, but to my dismay my mentor caught me from behind. I turned to him, incredulous.

He held his hand on my shoulder. "Give them a moment."

I watched with my heart wrung out like a washcloth. Another stepped onto the ship with you and you embraced him intensely. My heart almost stopped. I remembered him from the earlier ship. Elrond. It was too strange to think of a man of his years as my grandson. To my shame, I had been too afraid to approach him. Did he know, I wondered? He must have. But how do you begin a conversation like that? How could I speak of anything else? I had to wait for you. For it may well have been that we would never need to have that conversation, if you chose to remain with your mortal kin.

As you walked onto the shore, it was clear something was wrong. One of you – Elured, I think – stumbled into Elrond's arms. I ached to go to you, but I did not trust myself to keep from blurting out to you "My son!"

Finrod noticed my fretting. "Stay here," he said. "Something is wrong. They are ill, I think. Take the news to Nimloth, but do not approach yet. Now is not the time!"

I almost shouted my anguish. You were so close…But Finrod's eyes bore into mine. I would do as he asked. He left me then. Putting his arm under Elurin's as he staggered onto the shore. I watched just long enough to be sure that you were cared for and then I raced back to tell Nimloth the sweet and agonizing news.

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The Valar must have smiled upon me the day that I met Elrond, the one you know as your father.

We met in the little parkland outside Valinor, the one with the statues. I don't know why he chose this place. It makes me decidedly uncomfortable, but it did not seem to trouble him. I found him next to the harper. I shuddered. Lost in song is not how I remember that one. I pushed the memory aside. Old conflicts no longer mattered as much as what this meeting might bring.

Looking at him, I confronted an image of myself. He stared at me, so I suppose that he also noted not only the dark hair and grey eyes, but the high cheekbones, narrow nose, squared jaw line and clear, smooth complexion that we had in common.

I inclined my head towards him: "My daughter-son".

"Mother-father." His voice was sweeter than mine. I wondered if he had had some singing training…

"They wish to meet you."

It was as if the sun had risen for the first time. I wanted to shout for joy, but his face was somber. I schooled myself. "This cannot be easy for you," I said, searching for the right words. There were none, so I spoke what was in my heart. "I do not wish to be your rival. We only wish to know them a little. To know that they are well and happy. It is the worst of ordeals to have your children taken from you."

He flinched. "I know that all too well. I have lost my daughter – for all time."

"I did not know." He did not need to explain further. Only the choice of mortality could take our children for all time. I let the silence sit with us for several minutes before I repeated one of my mentor's sayings: "No parent should lose a child. No child should lose a parent."

"Indeed." He paused for a memory of deep sorrow.

I was surprised that I could read his emotions so well. He must have been letting me. I dared to hope that we could be friends.

He continued: "I do not remember my father at all and my mother very little. But I was cherished by another, like his own child." He glanced at the harper's statue for some reason. Perhaps his foster parent had been a musician, I thought. "No one could ever take his place but I think now that I will meet my first parents. If Elladan and Elrohir can find such courage, then so can I."

Elladan and Elrohir. That must be what he named you. Such odd names! Awkward in my mind, like a poorly balanced sword in the wrong hand. I also noted accusation in his voice. His mother. My daughter.

"I believe that your mother would never have left you willingly." I hoped it was the truth.

"I would like to believe that, also." He smiled then and I smiled in return. I liked your father very much. I even imagine that he may well have been a better father to you than I would have been. I was so full of vanity in those days. So over-assured of my importance. I suspect that the reason you hardly remember me is that I spent so little time with you. My pride had left my priorities severely askew.

Your father and I parted with him extending the invitation to meet you at your home the next morning. At first I felt a little discomforted by the location. But no doubt Elrond chose it because it was of maximum comfort to you, so I agreed.

I knew that this night would be the longest night I had ever known. It was.

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Nimloth grasped my hand more tightly than I thought so slight a woman would be capable of. She trembled, holding her other hand to her mouth as if afraid that too many words might slip out.

The front door to your father's house had an intricate design depicting a swan ship surrounded by stars and waves. There were forty two stars. I counted them all as we waited for someone to answer the door. To my surprise, it was my mentor. I stared at him, but he merely smiled and led us through the house to the back door. We were to meet you in the garden. I surmised that it was a place that you liked.

The paved garden contained a fountain surrounded by a rose garden, with seats set into the high stone walls. For a city house, it was enormous. At least forty paces across. But I suspected that it was not big enough for you, who were accustomed to having all Eriador to move about in as you pleased. My mentor took position on a low seat by the door and gestured me onward.

Four figures stood together on the far side of the fountain. Elrond smiled and took the hand of a silver haired woman. I guessed she was Celebrian, your mother. She glanced at us fearfully as she and her husband walked away a little. I inhaled sharply as I saw her face. She was uncannily like my Nimloth. Silver hair, blue eyes and pale skin. Yet were they not both the kin of the Lord Celeborn? There was steel in those eyes, and I guessed that she was not one who was easily shaken. She was unsettled that day.

Your returned health had put colour in your cheeks, returned the brightness to your eye and the sheen to your jet black locks. You seemed to be younger versions of your father; and, I supposed, myself. A tiny sound escaped Nimloth, despite her hand. She used it to reach out to you. I saw the tears staining her cheeks and I realized that this day was for her more than I. I released her hand and let her move ahead of me.

Elured – no Elladan, I must call you by your new names – stepped towards her. Your veils – that subtle elven art that camouflages a person's true appearance – slipped away and your full beauty was revealed, dazzling in the way only a Maiar-kin can be. Elrohir stepped forward and you accepted Nimloth's arms around you both as gently as day-old colts and all the things I wanted to say to you no longer needed to be said.

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**Apologies for the late additions – the last section just didn't belong in the next chapter!**

**Please don't leave the reviewing to someone else. They might get it wrong!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry for the delay folks. It has been a challenging chapter to write. **

**Att: If you have not read the ending of the last chapter, please do so now.**

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**Harmony**

Elladan tugged at his collar. Why did they always have to be so tight? He had never worn silk before and he did not like the experience. Softness to the skin was no consolation for being strangled. At least a stout linen shirt would stop all of the pins from sticking into him from all directions.

"Stop moving," his mother ordered. "I need to get this edging on the outer robe exact and I cannot get the pins in the right place if you refuse to stand still."

He sighed and attempted to moderate his movements. Until today, he had always enjoyed the sun room in the town house. Today it seemed to be far too crowded and warm.

"I don't know, Celebrian," his mother's mother frowned. "The hem just does not sit right."

Elladan wished that he had one of Nerdanel's replicas of himself, so that he did not have to be present for this. Or maybe Elrohir could do both…

"Do not even think about it, Brother," Elrohir complained from a low chair where a cobbler was fretting over his new shoes. The colour was an exact match to the fabric that the women were fussing with, but it was pinching his toes.

"I have never seen toes so big," the cobbler complained. "And I have shod every man in the palace. Yours are not the biggest feet, but certainly the biggest toes."

Elladan watched as Elrohir frowned. The man clearly had no idea of the danger to his personal safety. Elrohir leaned close to the man.

"There is nothing wrong with my toes!" he growled.

"Of course, good sir!" the man hastily replied. "I meant no disrespect. I will make the proper adjustments to both pairs."

The cobbler gathered up the shoes and trotted for the door. As he opened it to leave, he gave a small shout and almost dropped his bundle when he encountered another person beyond the door.

"Master Hurtassion," came an all too familiar voice. Elladan groaned silently. "Do not let us keep you from your duties."

Hurtassion bowed hastily and continued down the corridor. Elladan sighed and began to frown. Then he yelped as a pin dug itself into his knee.

"Mother!" he said.

His mother gave him a stern look before she stood up to greet their new guest. Elrohir joined Galadriel who was still frowning at their handiwork.

Finrod gave Elladan an appraising look. "So this is the fabric for the court robes? You decided to go with pale grey? Very well. But it should be richly ornamented. You will have to work diligently to complete two such sets of robes in time."

Galadriel stood back and sighed. "The ornamentation we have agreed on will be simple. Lorien leaves interwoven with traditional flourishes."

"What colours?"

"Silver."

"And what other colour? Are you to include blue with silver? And what about including a winged moon? Or the star of Earendil? And may I suggest a suggestion of a winged sun?"

Galadriel laughed. "If were are to include all of those devices, they will look like a riot! We discussed the possibility of including a silmaril for Earendil, but I think it might be too provocative."

"Indeed. So no other colours?"

"No. They will not have any."

Finrod frowned. "The result will be far too plain. We must add something more as a reminder of their ancestry."

Elladan huffed. It had been a very trying afternoon.

Finrod turned to him. "You would prefer not? Are you not proud of your ancestors?"

Elladan felt his skin prickle as if all of the pins were jabbing him at once. He shifted under the weight of the tunic.

"My brother and I are not accustomed to such elaborate…requirements." He willed himself to show calm and deference.

"Indeed not," the prince responded, smiling. "So I will forgive you. You have had much to learn since you arrived."

Elladan felt something inwardly give. He suddenly found himself nostalgic for the freedom of his birthplace, where no one expected him to honor any shared ancestors. Being 'The Sons of Elrond' had been enough. But he reined himself in quickly. He had promised not to fret for what was gone.

"I have a solution," Finrod continued. "A rather stunning effect would be silver thread woven into their braids."

Galadriel nodded. "We have plenty of silver thread."

"No, that will be too fine." Finrod smiled broadly. "I know just where to get something more suitable." He walked briskly to the door and gave some instructions to an attendant.

Galadriel and his mother finally relieved him of the heavy outer robe, leaving him in his silk undertunic and belt. Gathering his robe and Elrohir's from where it was draped over a chair, the two women left to continue their hemming in the hastily converted dining room.

Finrod returned and stood before Elladan with a pleased smile. Then, without asking consent, he began to handle Elladan's hair, running his fingers along its length, assessing its thickness and strength. Elladan and Elrohir had been growing their hair since they had been with the healers and it was now level with their elbows and thicker than three horse-tails. He wished he could trim it short again, to keep it out of the way. A ring on Finrod's hand snagged on a small knot. He yelped and pulled back.

"I am sorry, my kinsman," Finrod apologized. "I forget that you are not used to elvish familiarity. But in future, if you wish someone to stop touching you, gently push their hand away. Do not pull yourself away. It appears insolent."

Elladan added this information to the long list of social niceties that were expected of him.

"I never cared to be pawed at either," a voice that Elladan found he was very glad to hear came from the direction of the garden.

Finrod frowned without turning. "Dior, your persistence in siding with Elladan and Elrohir against me is becoming most irritating," he said, but Elladan detected a note of amusement in his voice.

Dior did not seem at all discouraged. "When it is not the usual custom of one's culture to be very tactile, an encounter with one for whom it is, can be like being stripped naked by a stranger. And those ridiculous high necklines that the Noldor favor are like wearing a dog's collar about one's neck."

Elladan felt himself smile and he tugged his top button undone. He glanced at his brother who nodded and did the same.

Finrod gave a short sigh. "You will have to get used to your 'dog-collars'. You must have them done up for your presentation at court. I will permit you to undo the top button at the reception afterwards, but no sooner!"

Elladan almost choked. "There is to be a reception afterward?" he gasped. He pictured himself surrounded by a score of similarly over-adorned elves poking and pawing at him, waiting to see him do something 'rustic'.

"Do not worry," Finrod assured him. "Everyone will be too busy dancing to paw at you."

"There is to be _dancing_?"

Finrod drew in a sharp breath.

Dior held up a hand.

"Do not be anxious," he said. "We will be there with you – your father and I have just now finished making an arrangement that will have one of us by your side at all times. All you will have to do is be physically present. We will guide you if you get stuck for what to say or do. And we will ensure that you get plenty of intervals throughout the night to catch your breath."

Elladan sighed and nodded to Dior in gratitude.

Finrod huffed slightly. "Be sure that you do not make your guidance too obvious, my son, and be aware that all of the royal houses of the Noldor will be represented."

Dior scowled and started to reply but they were interrupted by a soft knock from the hall.

"Ah, that will be my silver ribboning," Finrod took the liberty of answering the door.

Elladan slumped into a couch and pulled his brother down with him, so that he could use his shoulder for a head rest. Surely this phase could be negotiated without them. However, Elrohir tugged his sleeve and nodded towards Dior. Their kinsman had fixed his attention on the newcomers, a scowl creasing his normally calm features. Abruptly, he turned on his heel and exited through the door to the garden.

"What do you suppose has upset him?" Elrohir whispered.

There was no time for a reply as two figures entered the room, each wearing deep blue capes with deep hoods pulled over their heads. They carried a large case between them, which seemed to be what Finrod had requested. It was only when one of the figures turned their back as they negotiated the doorway that Elladan started. On the person's back was embroidered a circular device with a prismatic jewel with flames radiating outward. It was a device that he had only ever before seen painted into one of his father's books of heraldry. He had never anticipated seeing it in use by a living person anywhere in creation.

Elrohir was pulling him to his feet. He quickly cooperated. He stared as the newcomers lowered the case to the floor and opened it. Inside were assorted reels of silver and gold ribbon.

"Yes, thank you Ladies," His kinsman was saying. "I believe that one will do." He indicated a reel of silver thread of roughly bowstring's width. One of the ladies removed it from the case and handed it to him with a bow. They were about to leave when Finrod stopped them.

"My dear maids," he said. "Have you yet made the acquaintance of the only other twins in Aman? No? Well, then allow me the great honor of introducing Elladan and Elrohir, the sons of Elrond. Elladan, Elrohir, this is" – he paused looking at the closer of the two –"Alasse?"

She nodded.

"…and Alassiel." He indicated the other girl.

The figures turned and lowered their hoods with a deep curtsy.

Elladan stared. The two elf maids looked exactly alike. The high cheek bones and clear grey eyes of the Noldor dominated their flawless faces. Hair of polished copper formed a shawl over their heads and shoulders. Elladan felt his heart inexplicably quicken its pace as the two young women studied him and his brother with equal intensity. Tall, yet shapely, they could easily look him in the eye and clearly had little fear of doing so. He shivered and felt himself perspire slightly at the same time. What on earth could be wrong with him? Had he suddenly developed an illness? His mouth suddenly dry, he swallowed several times before he could speak.

"Forgive me for staring, Ladies," he said his eyes tracing the pattern in the rug. "We have never before met any other…_twins_…like ourselves."

"Nor have we," said Alasse, stepping closer to look at them. "How curious! I can not tell you apart! I begin to understand the confusion of others."

Elladan thought he should say something agreeable, but Alasse had come within arm's reach and that suddenly made him feel awkward and clumsy. He glanced at Elrohir. He was watching the young women through his eyebrows shyly, but did not speak. He wiped his damp palms on his leggings.

"Well," Finrod smiled broadly. "I am sure Alasse and Alassiel have pressing duties. We must not keep you, Ladies. Please take my greetings to your mother and father. It has been too long since we last spoke."

Alasse and Alassiel turned and curtsied again before leaving them with girlish smiles.

After the door closed behind them, Finrod turned back to them.

"Well?" he asked.

Elladan was confused. Elrohir apparently had nothing to say either.

Finrod looked back and forth between them. "What did you think of the young ladies of the House of Maglor? Appealing, are they not? Yet so sad. Difficult enough for twin sisters to find suitable husbands but who would court Feanorian princesses?"

Elladan started to choke and then cough. Elrohir did not seem to have heard their kinsman's last words.

It did not seem to matter. Finrod was suddenly looking inordinately pleased with himself. "And now, I must see how your mother and my sister are faring with your new clothing. We must have you looking your part as princes of the Noldor. I will leave you to yourselves for the afternoon. Take the time to rest and restore yourselves."

He left without waiting for a farewell.

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	8. Chapter 8

**Sorry for the delay again, folks. It has been a very trying week!**

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**Testing**

"Everything must go exactly to plan if you hope to succeed, my son," Finarfin, High King of the Noldor and Lord of Tirion frowned slightly over the scene below them.

Finrod smiled and tilted his head back against the door frame. "Everything is going exactly to plan, Father. They are coming along magnificently."

The older Noldo pulled his hood over his head and stepped out onto the balcony for a better view. His house had many balconies and windows, but this was the only one that overlooked the stable yard. He usually used it to watch the grooms, or sometimes family members, work with his magnificent collection of horses. He loved horses, and enjoyed the training for events as much as the events themselves. Today the scene was a little different. Watching the promising young colts cavort and show off were two plain clothed young men with unbound dark hair. The antics of the yearlings drew smiles from them. Generally speaking, anyone who liked horses met with the king's approval. He smiled as one of the yearlings approached their spectators, welcoming a scratch behind the ears from one of them.

"You ask a great deal from a pair of wild colts," he said. "You tell me that they have naturally amiable dispositions and are quick to learn, but I pity them. A hunting expedition to the hills would suit them far better than being groomed and expected to perform dressage."

Finrod pulled up his hood and joined his father at the balcony edge. "They are up to it. I have spent time observing them and there is more high breeding to them than first meets the eye."

"Indeed. Let us go down to them. I must see this for myself."

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Elrohir scratched the dark mane in the way that horses usually liked. He was rewarded with a grateful nicker. He smiled. This day seemed to be brighter and warmer than others of late, and he and his brother had been eager to be out of doors. An invitation to visit the King's stables had been too difficult to refuse. Their host had disappeared a few minutes ago, saying something about a quick errand, but he did not mind. The sun was smiling and the air smelled of familiar things. He returned his attention to the colt.

"You are a clever fellow. You will make your master proud when you have learned all your lessons," he told the horse.

"You really must stop talking to horses, Elrohir," his brother teased. "People will say you have a 'fey mood' which is what Valinorians say when they think you have lost your wits."

Elrohir smiled. "I care not."

"If you say so, Brother. I think perhaps you talk to animals out of pining loneliness."

"That would explain why you talk to statues."

"I do not talk to statues! I was merely rehearsing what I would say to the Lady Lindthiel and Lord Limdur if we meet them. It might pay to make a good impression on the parents of the 'only other twins in Aman'," Elladan grinned.

Elrohir sighed. "Do you really think the only daughter of Maglor son of Feanor and her husband are going to be interested in your acquaintance? You and I are a couple of rough haired young ill-breds to them, as we are to all the true royalty of Tirion…"

"There are no rough haired ill-breds in the House of Finarfin," a voice said sternly.

Elrohir stiffened. He was beginning to find the Valinorian habit of arriving unannounced alarming. Very alarming. He glanced at Elladan who was looking as if he had just encountered a hill troll. They both collected themselves and bowed.

Dark robes adorned with a golden sunburst informed Elrohir of the importance of their present company. Finrod stood behind him, his face unreadable. He could think of nothing to say. Nor could his brother. They kept their eyes lowered. Elrohir wondered how long it would take a king of the Noldor to devise a punishment for them…

Finrod cleared his throat. "Father, may I present Elladan-Elured and Elrohir-Elurin, sons of Elrond, son of Earendil the Blessed and Celebrian, daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn."

Elladan and Elrohir bowed again. Elrohir felt a dull ache beginning at the base of his spine. He straightened a little slowly, glancing upward quickly in the hope that the king did not notice.

To his discomfort, the king's eyes were lingering upon him, a small smile twitching his lips. "I am delighted to meet the very last of my descendants born in exile to return home. You have the look of your father's people. Finrod tells me that you are very like Thingol, but for your jet black hair. Yet there is much of my daughter's and my brother's blood in you also." He pinched Elrohir's chin between thumb and forefinger, turning his head for a better examination. "But not much evidence in your appearance."

Elrohir fought the urge to pull away. His neck was beginning to ache as well, but he dare not resist. Fortunately Finrod came to his rescue, placing a hand on his father's until he released him. The king looked at his son with a mildly surprised expression. Finrod almost imperceptibly shook his head.

"My son tells me that you like to travel?" the king continued lightly. "It has been a long time indeed since I have had anyone to introduce to the open country. We are making an expedition next week. I will see that you are included on the invitation list."

Elrohir looked up in shock. Was he planning to beat them to death in the wilderness?

The king began to laugh, a sound of pure amusement. "Let Elladan and Elrohir, sons of Elrond forget my earlier sternness. I understand," he looked at Finrod, "that customs in Middle Earth have varied from customs of Tirion. And one who listens to conversation he is not invited to cannot expect to hear good tidings of himself."

Elrohir was still unable to find anything to say. His chin and neck still burned. He felt the tension in Elladan's body beside him.

"Come," the king tried again. "Tell me what you think of these two colts that my optimistic son is inclined to train. Have they any potential?"

There was a long pause until Finrod shot Elrohir a razored look.

Elrohir bowed again. How often was too often? He wondered. "They are good creatures, Your Majesty," thankfully his voice only rasped a little. "Well bred, even if they have little notion of it. They may be young and inexperienced, but they are quick and willing to learn and they have a desire to please their lord," he said.

The king smiled and Finrod nodded at him.

"Good. Then I will keep them near my court a little longer to see how they fare. But if they continue to fret, I have not the heart to keep them confined."

Elrohir could not help but make a small smile. He glanced at Elladan. His shoulders had lost some of their tension and he was looking up at the king for the first time.

The king held out his hands to them both in turn. "Come, let us make this a proper meeting."

Elrohir tried to keep his hands from trembling as the king's enclosed them surprisingly gently and held them for a long moment until he met his eyes. Elrohir was suddenly reminded very profoundly of Galadriel. He shuddered lightly but did not lower his eyes. While not deliberately unkind, the King was certainly very thorough. Even his grief for the loss of Estel and the memory of the Morannon was probed and examined. He sighed when the king finally withdrew his gaze.

He kissed them both on their foreheads before giving them leave to depart.

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Finrod folded his arms across his chest, and refused to take a seat. Instead he stood stiffly by one of the study's writing desks. When his gesture failed to gain a response from his father he frowned as well.

"How goes their relationship with Dior?" The king asked a stack of papers on his desk.

"He has grown to love them."

"Well done."

"It was not a difficult achievement. As I said, Elladan and Elrohir are amiable and good natured and very easy to love."

The King turned to look up at his son. "You love them also?"

"Why does that surprise you? I have spent a good deal of time with them, especially Elrohir. I wish to see them reach their potential for their own sakes as well as for our own ends."

"Very well. But they may not thank you for your interference once our scheming is revealed."

The younger Noldo sighed. "I will have to live with that." He paused thoughtfully. "It has been difficult for them. Their lives have been spent in the open countryside of Middle Earth, coming and going as they pleased, with the Dunedain lords for company. Their elven-kin were not always as respectful, while the Dunedain naturally held them in very high regard. The choice to leave Middle Earth was particularly difficult. They came to Aman hoping to see their family one last time. They did not look beyond the Circle. Now they are finding themselves with so many duties and obligations. So many people looking for the ghosts of their ancestors in them. Such is the burden of their birth. A burden that they always expected would be borne by their sister who is now gone."

"And what of _your_ sister?"

"Galadriel knows we are up to something and she does not approve. So does Elrond but he is satisfied to let things unfold as they will."

"Will either of them try to stop us?"

"I do not think so. Galadriel already suspects things in part and has done nothing to stop us yet. Elrond's connection to Maglor is providential. I doubt he will object. Dior will be the protestor. Yet he is the most crucial piece in this puzzle. I am confident that he will respond to reason. Like all fathers, his wish is to see his sons happy… I would also enjoy seeing them happy."

The King sighed. "It is a scheme that rests on many hopes and possibilities and not much that is solid and definite. Yet there will be no more opportunities like this one. They are the last representatives of the princes of the Noldor in Middle Earth to return from exile. They will have to impress the very height of Tirion society and capture the hearts of those most burdened with grief, for the outcome to be effective. There is much in their hearts that is noble and good, but they are still very innocent of our ways and customs. Do not move too soon! And do not move unless they are willing. I would hate to see such bright spirits broken, however great is our need."

Finrod bowed and departed, leaving the king in a pensive mood.

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	9. Chapter 9

**Third Interlude**

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There are times when I could cheerfully throttle my brother. Yet I am given to understand that many who are afflicted with a male sibling feel similarly, especially if the sibling in question is an intrusive, self-satisfied and impertinent Noldo prince.

Never satisfied to stay out of the affairs of others in Beleriand, he is still not satisfied to say out of the affairs of others even when he has taken up his life in Valinor. He and Father are up to something. I would care not but that it clearly involves my daughter-sons. The treasured sons that I could not spare the strength to give my Lord Celeborn.

If my brother causes them harm, I shall throttle him. Slowly.

Seeing them now, with their hair grown long for the first time in many years and a burgeoning of renewed grace and poise, I can hardly believe that they so terrorised the servants of the enemy that the orcs would flee shrieking at the rumour of their coming.

Now they are more like the gentle elven youths I remember running along the terraces of Rivendell, singing and dancing as beautifully as any elf-child.

I watch as they rehearse with my brother over and over again their entrance into the great hall of my Father. It has been hours and I see Elladan's shoulders are beginning to sag. Not from weariness of body, but from weariness of heart and mind. Elrohir sighs once too often and my brother chastises him. He looks a little injured and I begin to object.

"They must have this exactly right, Sister," he says. "Their entrance is when all eyes will be upon them. They must make all fall in love with them at once or it will all be for nothing."

He then returns to instructing them to match their steps exactly to each other and to their father who will lead them in. This would not be normal procedure but the three of them look so striking together that my brother decided on a variation to tradition. I suspect that this is also to remind all present of who Elladan and Elrohir are. Celebrian will also be standing with me as I stand at the foot of the dais. A further reminder.

Finally my brother tells them to rest and they both collapse on the floor and even Elrond takes one of the nearest seats reserved for the upper nobility. Brother frowns and I ask him why this is so important. I know he is not telling me everything when he says "I only wish the best for them."

Never far from my brother's side is his foster-son, Dior. He has been sitting quietly in the first gallery until now, fidgeting and frowning.

"We must not have the Feanorians thinking that we are uncouth or uncivilised. I could not bear that from them." His voice is uncharacteristically flat and cold.

"Your lack of charity towards Nerdanel and what is left of her family is unbecoming, Dior." Brother says.

"I only say aloud what others whisper in private."

"Others say no such thing," Brother scalds, although he knows it is not quite true. This is also out of character. I think weariness is getting the better of him.

"Very well, then it is what I say. Elladan and Elrohir should not fear judgement from such as they, the kin of murderers and marauders, who destroyed my realm and brutally took my family from me."

It is then that I realise that a seed of darkness has once again found its way into Valinor, where all darkness should be banished. But how do you redress such deep wrongs? Memories so grim cannot be so easily faded.

I try to think of something to say, but Elrond speaks up first.

"Not all of the sons of Feanor were completely given over to evil. Maedhros was deeply distressed over the events of that day. Most especially over the loss of the boys." I notice that he is careful not to say Elured or Elurin. Elladan and Elrohir belong to this life now.

"How would you know?" Dior demanded.

"He said so, often. When he looked upon my brother and I he would become sad and express his regret over the loss of another two children that he had failed to rescue."

Dior looks stunned. Elrond continues.

"Maglor adopted me when my parents fled Middle Earth. Maedhros often visited us, remarking each time on how my brother and I had grown, and always with the tiniest of catches in his voice. He sincerely regretted what had befallen, but none more than Maglor. He would never speak of it, only pull us close to him and shed tears into our hair."

Dior withdraws into some distant memory and grimaces. Elves never grimace, so I know that he is remembering his life in Middle Earth.

"I do not remember the one-handed red-head that day. It was his evil brother who reached me first. And last. As for the harper, I am not certain he was even there at all. But he must have been. I have been told of what the red-head tried to do, but…" his voice trails off. Seeing that he is in great distress of memory, Brother goes to him.

The Elves and especially the Noldor are not simple creatures. It is wrong to say that a Noldo is good or evil, for he may be both at the same time. The taint from the beginning leaves none of us untouched. For Dior, so young as he was at the time, it is difficult to for him to see past events in more sophisticated terms. Truth can bear a sharp blade indeed.

"Dior, my son," Brother says. "This crevasse that divides the Noldor must be sealed. A kingdom divided is how Valinor darkened the first time. Do you wish to see history repeat itself? The Kingship must be whole and restored. It is my belief that the One has provided for this, but it remains for us to let the healing take place. You must not blame Nerdanel and Maglor's family for events in which they took no part. They deserve to be included as much as anyone."

Dior nods, but keeps his head bowed.

"Forgive me, it is just…you know what they did."

"I know."

"Seeing them here. I cannot pretend that it is forgotten."

"No one is asking you to forget. Only to forgive and not to blame those who are as much victims as you."

Dior looks up and turns to Elladan and Elrohir, still seated on the floor. They smile at him. It still amazes me that they could have such a high degree of fondness for Dior so quickly. But of course, he is kin to them and kind to them. And they have gentle hearts.

Dior sits down beside them and it is here, on the floor of Father's great throne room that they finally speak of the unspeakable. Of death and pain and fear and horror. It is drawn out of them like poison.

When they are ready, Elrond joins them and shares some memories of his time with Maglor. Even I raise my eyebrows once or twice and wish I had gotten to know him better before our departure. I very much wish I could have known the Maglor who held terrified half-elven children on his lap and sang them a lullaby; or baked honey oat cakes because he thought that was something children would like to eat; or tucked him into bed beside him because they could not bear the cold. Dior listens with his head bowed. Elladan and Elrohir tilt their heads to one side in that endearing way that they do, and make the first small smiles I have seen from them all day. I smile also.

At last everyone is silent. They sit close together with their heads bowed towards each other and I realise that there are some things that can never be fully understood by any outside one's _kind_. These four are all that there is left of they who were called 'halfelven' and this saddens me. Brother looks at me and I know he is thinking the same. What did we miss out on when Aegnor made his choice? A moment of foresight comes to me of a golden haired youth with wise grey eyes and the muscular build of the Beorians and I wonder why foresight could play such a cruel jest with me.

Yes, there are times when I could cheerfully throttle my brother.

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	10. Chapter 10

**Change**

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Elladan leaned back against the stone foundation, the coolness soothing his aching back. He glanced at his brother who was remedying his aching spine by lying along a flat section of the path. He listened to the movements of birds and small creatures scuttling through the undergrowth around him and smiled.

There was not a sound of anyone else. No rehearsals. No protocols. No fittings. No expectations. No difficult conversations. No testing. It had been several days since their encounter with the king and he no longer felt tousled in spirit.

Peace at last.

"Will we be alone here?" Elrohir asked him.

"Yes," he replied wearily.

"You are quite sure?"

"No one ever comes here, not even Father," he answered. "Thanks to our silent companion. No one has swept away the pine needles from around his feet in a long time. He does not get many visitors." He indicated the likeness looming above him.

One of Nerdanel's creations supervised them with disapproval. Beautiful even to the discernment of elves, with long dark hair and smooth delicate features, he was posed as if he would at any moment leap into action, drawing a weapon on anyone who displeased him. Elladan shivered. He would not care to encounter Celegorm son of Feanor alive.

He looked back to his brother, still stretched out on his section of path. He grinned. His brother's hair spread across the moss patched ground in a tangle and there were scuffs on each of his knees and dirt patches on his tunic. Finrod would be sent into a fit of 'tut tut's over that. He laughed.

"What is so funny, Brother?" Elrohir asked.

"You look like a Dunedain ranger upon hard times."

"Thank you. You look like a Dunedain ranger on hard times' less fortunate companion."

They both laughed and then grew serious. Elladan caught his brother's thought matching his own. He hoped his brother's wisdom proved true.

"We will get through this, my brother," Elrohir said, propping himself on an elbow and wincing slightly. "When all of the fuss dies down, we can find some quiet corner to settle down in – though preferably not under the glare of an angry Feanorion prince."

They laughed.

"He makes my skin crawl also," a cool voice interrupted.

By all the Balrogs in Beleriand, not again! he thought. Elladan turned and stared, furious. But then felt a not unpleasant shiver run through his limbs.

Two copper-headed elf maids grinned at them from the edge of the tree line. Evidently they knew how to find this spot without using the path. Elrohir hastily scrambled to his feet, brushing down his tunic as Elladan rose stiffly.

"We have been neglecting the sweeping," one of the maids continued, Elladan could not be sure if it was the same one who had already spoken or not. They were so alike! "I do not like this one either. I have heard that he did black deeds in your lands." She glanced at the statue. "It does not surprise me."

"I know him only by reputation," Elladan found himself unable to meet the maid's eyes as she approached.

She began sweeping the pine needles with a hand broom. "I understand your father knew our mother's father, is this so?" she moved around the base towards him. He caught the scent of wildflowers.

He smiled. "Maglor raised our father until he was almost grown. He speaks of him with affection."

The maid smiled broadly. "It is not often we hear good report of our kin."

"We have no ill will towards the House of Maglor."

"Then you are quite unique in Valinor." She sighed.

There was silence for a while as the maid brushed absently. Elladan watched her graceful, sinuous movements. She was tall and slender, like most elves, but her copper coloured hair betrayed her heritage. Only Nerdanel's kin had red hair. Even in the dim forest light it glistened like real polished copper. A beacon for all those with a grudge against the House of Feanor.

"Yes, it is quite red," she frowned. "Are you wondering if I am mad?"

He hastily made a careful examination of the statue's boots.

"I'm sorry, I did not mean to stare," he apologized. "I know what it is like to be…other. To be an outsider among one's own kin. When I was young, people would ask me if I could catch plague or did I feel fear of the dead or even did I feel yearnings of lust…" he stopped, feeling his face tingle.

The maid smiled at him. He was grateful that she did not laugh. "That must have been uncomfortable," she said.

"The Edain do not suffer such things. But that did not stop the questions."

"My kinsmen certainly did evil."

"Evil deeds are a choice. A person might choose otherwise. A person might choose _to be_ otherwise."

"You have much wisdom and you comfort me…forgive me, which are you?" she lowered her gaze briefly.

"Elladan. I shall remember you as the one who chooses otherwise."

"I am Alasse," she said. Then she giggled. "I shall remember you as the one who blushes."

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"You had one outfit suitable for riding, and you go and get it filthy lying in the dirt?"

Elrohir flinched and studied his muddy boots. He had never had to worry about what clothing he would wear from day to day before. He had had three sets of tunics and trousers when he arrived at Avallone, but all of them now tended to be loose around the shoulders and baggy around his thighs.

He dared a quick glance upward, but his mother was still frowning at him, her eyes like coals.

"I cannot send you on a hunting trip with the king with you looking like a jester." She sighed explosively. "I will try to adjust your better trousers, but it would take some kind of enchantment to make one of your old tunics fit. I will see what your father has that might serve."

She departed after giving his brother a similar scolding and Elrohir sighed with relief. Mothers could be such taxing creatures, he decided. He had been as surprised as anyone when the invitation list for the king's hunt had included his brother and himself. He must remember to take even casual invitations seriously, he thought.

Elladan raised an eyebrow. "Do you think the king will care about the fit of our clothes?" he mused.

"Mother seems to think so. Estel would not have cared if we chose to ride about in our horses' saddle blankets. But I imagine our king is more like Thranduil. He would notice every loose thread."

Elladan sighed. "At least we will be less of a curiosity if our tunics are not the same. Do you know, we have always dressed alike, yet I begin to think that perhaps this was a little inconsiderate."

"How so?" Elrohir frowned.

"If we dress differently, people will be able to tell us apart, which might be more comfortable for them."

Elrohir felt his internal organs grow cool. "But I don't want to be separated from my brother! I will be uncomfortable if I can not see myself when I look at you!"

Elladan smiled at him. "We will still be us underneath! We will not be separated, just differentiated. Perhaps it is time to reconsider some of our old ways."

Elrohir tried to think of a reasonable objection. "I find it difficult to imagine not being your double," he said slowly. "…and a little frightening."

Elladan closed the distance between them and pulled him against him. Elrohir rested his head on his shoulder.

"The One, in his wisdom, made us two, not one, my brother."

"Must everything change?"

"I believe so."

"We are not going to find a quiet corner, are we?"

"I much doubt it."

"You will not abandon me?"

"I could never abandon you."

There was silence for several minutes. Elrohir turned a number of possibilities over in his mind.

"Do you think Alassiel likes me at all?" he asked.

"_What?_"

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	11. Chapter 11

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**Chase**

Elladan inhaled the familiar smell of horse with a smile. The king's aides and grooms were leading their mounts about and fussing with harnesses, filling the royal stable yard with familiar noise. An untidy collection of hounds nosed around the horses' feet, stopping occasionally to grace him with a wag of a tail.

Elrohir was sitting by the tack room door tightening a boot buckle. Like the rest of their old clothing, their boots seemed to have become too loose. They had both been obliged to punch an extra hole in the straps to make them fit firmly around their calves. Elladan smiled. Elrohir looked about as comfortable as a dwarf in a talan, but he looked like part of a king's party.

His father's mid grey tunic had been quickly tailored to fit snugly, showing a considerably more slender figure than he remembered. He suspected that his own slate blue tunic with dark gray trousers produced a similar effect. Subtle embroidery very much to their father's taste adorned the collar and cuffs. His brother's black trousers and boots enhanced the effect, but the most profound change was his hair.

Neither Elladan nor Elrohir had ever considered arranging their hair to be of much importance – an occupation for people who had insufficient activity - but, true to character, Finrod had decided to surprise them that morning.

Armed with a comb, some fine leather laces, an assortment of clasps and Nimloth's assistance, he had first set about combing Elrohir's hair. After considerable critical commentary, Elrohir sported a single fine braid resting on lose hair down his back. Behind each ear was another fine braid, with small silver clasps at the ends. Elladan's own hair was similar, but Nimloth (after much more combing than he suspected was really necessary) had used a different kind of braiding. It certainly solved the problem of getting one's hair in one's face. He may even consider adopting braids permanently.

Elrohir noticed him watching him and stood up. His new side braids swung over his chest and he flicked them over his shoulders. Elladan smiled as Elrohir approached. As soon as he turned his head to watch the horses, his braids returned to bouncing against his collarbone.

"So many new things to become accustomed to," Elladan observed to him as his brother flicked an errant braid aside again.

"How does anyone abide these things?" Elrohir sighed.

Further consideration ended as two of the king's servants appeared one bearing the king's own spear and the other carrying two others. The first servant stood aside as the king himself arrived, shadowed by Finrod. Elladan was impressed with what the king chose to wear hunting, a black cloak trimmed with white fur over a richly embroidered rust coloured tunic and matching trousers and boots. His golden hair shone against the dark clothing like a beacon. They were summoned forward.

The king smiled at them as the approached, looking at them from head to foot. They bowed and waited for him to speak.

"Elladan and Elrohir, it is good to see you appropriately groomed," he smiled. "I have hunting spears for you to use and I believe the grooms have some horses ready. Now," he looked at Elladan, "Which are you?"

For several moments, Elladan was unable to comprehend what the king was asking. Finally he said, "I am Elladan."

"I shall remember you by your blue tunic."

Elladan glanced at his brother. Would they always have to wear blue and grey?

Finrod seemed to catch his discomfiture. "Father," he suggested, "perhaps it would be more convenient to observe that Elladan wears the herringbone style braids and Elrohir wears the traditional kind."

The king studied them again. "Indeed? They remind me of those two identical colts we once had. We ended up having to brand the one…"

"Father!" Finrod looked firmly at the king.

"But of course, we would not dream of marking our own offspring!" the king's eyes twinkled merrily. "But I believe you have already made the acquaintance of my other two special guests today, the Ladies Alasse and Alassiel." Elladan almost choked as the two maids approached from behind the king, smiling.

"Again, do not ask me which is which!" The king continued. "I will leave that for you to sort out. Now," he waved to groom to bring over two restive young stallions for them. "I must make ready for the hunt."

Elladan and Elrohir remembered to bow as they were dismissed. Elladan found himself only glancing quickly at the chestnut steed. Alasse and Alassiel still grinned at them.

Elladan thought he recognised the tilt of one maid's head.

"Again, I find you blushing, Elladan," she said. Alasse, he realized.

"May we ride with you?" Alassiel asked.

Elladan found his voice. "Of course."

The head groom sounded his horn and they were obliged to mount up or be left behind.

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The king and his hounds made such a rapid pace that Elladan wondered how they would keep up. The ground swept past their horses hooves and tree covered hills approached rapidly. At first, he was too impressed with their mount's speed to look around him, but reassured by the animal's smooth gait, he looked for Elrohir.

He found him looking equally surprised by their speed. One who was not surprised was Alassiel. She rode beside his brother comfortably, grinning. They rode until noon, the horses showing no sign of tiring. They stopped at an open glade at the base of the foothills. A cheerful river rushed past them, sending spray into the air as it raced over rocks. The hounds were the only ones disinterested in rest – they began nosing the surrounding undergrowth. They dismounted. Elladan found that he was not at all stiff from riding as he had expected to be.

"Those are the Pelori on our left," Alasse said, beside him. "We are entering Orome's Woods. The river we call Lalaith."

He nodded. "We passed this way after our stay in Lorien, a little more to the west, I think," he wondered if he would ever get his bearings in this strange land. But praise the One; they were in the open country! He drew in lungfulls of cool clean-smelling air and imagined that it almost lifted him from the ground. Elrohir was smiling broadly at him, his straightened posture and relaxed shoulders communicating his enjoyment.

"If you come this way a little," Alasse said, "you can see the old Twin Mountain-keeps over the falls of the river. They are lovely. It is sad that no one has lived there since the departure. So few have returned…" she left her thoughts unfinished.

They walked just beyond the edge of the tree line. Alasse pointed through a small gap in the leaves.

Far above, he could just see twin keeps carved from the surrounding rocks. As he thought about it, he could suddenly see them much closer. Mirror images they stood either side of the river as it emerged vigorously from a cleft in the mountains. Tall windows heavily shuttered adorned four levels or balconies with wrought iron railings. He could not make out any entrance, but reasoned it would be on the other side of the structures. A slender bridge crossed between them, arching over the splashing water. He blinked deeply and his sight returned to normal. He did not want Alasse to know that it was the first time he had used his enhanced sight.

"It must have a splendid view over the water from the bridge," he observed.

"I don't know," Alasse said. "No one has been up there in some time. I have never been up there."

Their heads leaned so close that a sudden breeze made a coppery lock of hair brush his cheek, along with the gentle scent of wildflowers. He felt his heart quicken and his skin dampen again. Perplexed, he was about to pull away when Alasse grasped his face with both hands and pressed her lips to his. He was startled by her actions, then surprised by her softness and sweetness and somehow his arms found their way around her shoulders. He found himself disappointed when it ended. He looked at her face smiling up at his and wondered what on earth he should do or say next.

There was a sudden and loud commotion from the direction of the clearing. By the sound of it, the dogs had managed to raise a very angry boar. Elladan felt his apprehension rising as the animal's squeals reminded him of shrieking orcs. He quickly put himself between the sounds and Alasse and stepped back into the clearing. Elrohir and Alassiel were close to where he had left them, apparently unaware that they were holding hands.

Sounds of baying and shrieking seemed to be all around them. The others listened, while Elladan shuddered.

Abruptly, there was silence. Finrod gestured for them all to take weapons. Elladan found his spear leaning against a rock where he had left it, but he did not think he would need it. The sounds of the chase had come from the far side of the clearing where the guards were peering intently into the undergrowth. He noticed the king was roughly in the middle of the clearing, between himself and the others. A charging boar could be very dangerous indeed, and the guards were taking no chances in the exercise of their duty. He felt his brother's presence beside him and sensed his unease. Why was it so quiet?

Undergrowth behind him exploded as the boar charged into the clearing. Its red eyes reminded him very acutely of the uruks of Mordor and he moved without hesitating. Quickly, anticipated the boar's intended line of charge – directly for the king who stood all but alone. Alasse and Alassiel were closing the distance between themselves and their liege. He could not let the charging beast meet its intended target.

He sprang to one side of the animal's path catching his brother's eye as he did so. The enraged animal continued towards its intended target unaware as Elladan and his brother plunged their spears into its back as it passed, both points meeting at the animal's heart. The boar collapsed dead before taking another step, its forward momentum causing it to skid to a stop at the king's feet just before the guards had time to close in.

The king stared at it. His spear had been ready, but he lowered it now.

"That was well done, Elladan and Elrohir," he said after what seemed like too many moments. "Seldom have I seen such quick reflexes, even among my own guard."

Elladan shifted his feet and glanced at his brother. Elrohir stared at the boar, then to him, then to his feet.

The king was unwilling to let the matter go. "Tell me, where did you learn such hunting skill?"

They hesitated until the king addressed the same question to Elladan.

"Your majesty," he bowed, grappling for words that would shrink the situation. "We hunted many creatures in Middle Earth in our before-life."

The guards murmured between themselves. The king was about to speak again when, to Elladan's relief, Finrod held up his hand.

"No doubt you have made many kills in your youth," he said. "Middle Earth holds many perils for elf-kin. You would need to be skilled indeed to…strike so much terror into the enemy."

Elladan risked a glance around him. Alasse and Alassiel were staring at them with round eyes. The king gave his son a perplexed look, which the prince silenced with a slight shake of his head. Elladan suddenly found himself feeling overly warm and confined, as if he were back in their father's town house with all the shutters closed.

"Enough," Alasse said, as both maids came towards them. "No one wants to relive past events. We are in Aman. The griefs of Middle Earth do not follow her children to Eldamar. Come," she smiled. "Ride back with me."

Elladan was more than happy to do so silently.

* * *

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**Sorry about the delay folks. I hope it was worth the wait. Let me know by R&Ring!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Fourth Interlude **

I did not speak of dying to Elured or Elurin. There were far more important things to discuss.

Elured's hair is thick and strong now that he is grown. He sat still with some degree of difficulty, while I assisted with his grooming that morning. He is normally given to activity – that at least has not changed! – so he posed with his shoulders stiff and his hands fidgeting. I smiled. It was one thing that I still know about him.

I asked him how he found his new life. He said he is learning to like his new home, but I heard a strain in his voice that told me otherwise. I sensed that he was feeling a good deal of tension about the coming day, so I did not press him for more conversation. I ached for his anxiety, but at the same time I rejoiced that I was able to read how he was feeling. He was not really happy - yet - but brave. He was persevering with the belief that things must get better eventually. Even if eventually took a long time to come.

I was glad that he could not see my tears for him. I combed his hair in silence until it was as soft and shiny as silk. Then I combed it some more, enjoying the feel of it through my fingers and the faint scent of honey-soap. It is the little things that a mother misses most, like combing her child's hair. I am blessed to be permitted this one last occasion to remember my little boy.

Finrod watched me for a few moments and smiled. I am grateful that he arranged this for me. He has extraordinary skill in understanding hearts.

But the day's business would not wait as long as I would have liked it to, and Finrod began with his instructing. I caught Elured's long-suffering mood and I laughed out loud.

Finrod exercised his legendary diplomacy and ignored my outburst.

Elurin looked at Elured and I caught his mood. He was even more anxious than Elured. I sensed that he had paid the higher price in life; some kind of hurt that had left him wounded even more than that terrible event with Celebrian.

Celebrian. Finrod continued with his lengthy instructions while I kept combing Elured's hair. There are some things only a mother can understand, and some things a mother cannot let go.

Celebrian. They have been hers so much longer than they were ever mine. I must aknowledge that. If only I could find an amiable way to be in her company, as Dior has with Elrond. It is my belief that fathers find it easier to let go of their babes than do mothers.

Finrod allowed Elured and Elurin to depart, telling them he would catch up later. They bade me farewell with soft, sweet voices that were both like and unlike the little boys I remembered.

I was left alone with the king's son.

"They have grown well, have they not?" he asked.

"I wish I could take the pride in that," I answered. "But that belongs to others."

"Indeed," he agreed. "But are you not pleased to see them now, grown, strong and happy? They could not have asked for a better mother or father, or even mother-mother or mother-father."

"I would if they _were_ happy."

He stared at me. I continued.

"Can you not feel the sadness within? They have spent all their time learning new rules, new protocols and new duties. They have found no time for joy."

He thought that over.

"Then we must do our best to introduce some joyful elements to them," he made a secretive smile and I wondered what he was up to.

"What happened to Elurin to make him so afraid of being apart from his brother?" I asked. I needed to know.

"How do you…?"

"A mother knows."

"Others of elf-kind have not always been kind."

"That I can believe!" My blood chilled at old memories resurfacing.

"Can you believe that it was an incident with a sinda?"

My blood turned icy.

"And it was a Feanorion – Maglor - who saved their father's life when he was but a child. Life is full of the most bizarre ironies, Nimloth. We can only heal these rifts with love. _Elladan and Elrohir_," he emphasized their new names for my benefit, "understand this. If you love them, _you_ must let them become."

And so I did. I let them go on the hunt with the Feanorian girls. Now they are back and tales are spreading. I am not sure which is worse, the story of killing the boar or that Alasse and Alassiel now look at them with big, girlish eyes.

I let Elured and Elurin go.

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* * *

.

I have to say, when I first laid eyes upon them, I was not moved with much interest. I thought that the royal blood of the Noldor - my royal blood - had been spent in Middle Earth. But, for some utterly inexplicable reason, my son is ever the optimist .

So many days spent in Lorien. My son with them. When he returned to the palace, I asked him why he didn't give up. It appeared to be hopeless.

"They _are_ improving!" he said hotly. "Father, you have no idea what Middle Earth can do to a person."

I felt my anger rising like molten metal. "Are you calling me a coward? I had thought we were done with such talk."

Finrod stared at me for a moment, then his face softened.

"No Father, of course not. No one calls you coward. I meant that Elladan and Elrohir have suffered griefs we cannot imagine. And that is before we consider their physical therapy."

"Physical therapy? What is that?" I was puzzled.

"They have had the very fiber of their physical selves rewritten. And their eyesight will take another week at least to recover. They both have their heads swathed in bandages until then. Blind and aching, they need as much attention as can be given. Even Este seems apprehensive…" he broke off and turned away, but I could feel the sorrow in his heart. Sometimes I think he has too much heart, if that were possible for elf-kind.

I put my hand on his shoulder, but he still did not turn.

"If you feel that there is progress to be made," I said, "then do not give up on them."

"I _cannot_ give up on them," he said without turning. "That is what Middle earth did to _me_."

That was the last time I challenged him on the subject.

Since I always keep an interest in whatever interests my son, I continued to make periodical, polite enquiry. And they did make progress indeed! Impressive progress. It is difficult to believe how far they have come! But I still wonder if they will ever reach the level of grace and poise we need. I have often supervised the training of young colts. The wildest ones are rarely trainable to my liking. Especially if their training did not start when they were very young. I feared that my son's heart would be broken for so much time and attention that would eventually be proven to be in vain.

I had looked forward to a pleasant day's hunting and a chance to observe their behaviour with others. I got far more than I anticipated. I missed the kill but could not be displeased with the result. While I have no particular desire to be gored by a boar, I also suddenly understood what my son had been trying to tell me for so long.

They had seen more kills than I had seen hunts, even in my long years. No one could blame them if they chose to spend the rest of the life of Arda in some quiet corner of Aman. They had earned an eternity of peace and rest.

It takes considerable nobility of spirit to _instead_ chose to learn new ways, new roles and demonstrate new loyalties.

I must honour that at least.

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**What? no R&Rs? No criticisms? Please, I need R&Rs to live...**


	13. Chapter 13

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**Inheritances**

Elrohir tugged irritably at his collar. He did not dare undo his top button under Uncle's watchful glare. His father gave him a smile and gently pulled his hands to his sides.

He had spent the last four hours being bathed, groomed and dressed. Until this day, he had not believed it possible for preparation of one's appearance to take so long. He was impressed with his father's ability to look so at ease in such elaborate dress. He might have been considering going for a quiet stroll, rather than facing their king and overlord, he thought.

Uncle's quick tug on one of his silver-threaded braids reminded him that he had allowed his mind to wander yet again.

"Now, remember, when you enter through the main double doors, after your father takes two steps, you take exactly three steps and all pause for the count of ten. That will give the assembly enough time to get a good look at the three of you. You don't want your mothers' sewing to be for naught, do you? Then the king - my father – will beckon. Once. You must be attentive…" he paused to tug one of Elladan's braids, quite sharply, "…and approach. Not too quickly! It makes you appear uncomfortable…"

"We are uncomfortable!" Elrohir protested.

But Uncle continued without appearing to hear him. "…and remember to school your expressions. You must not look bored…" - a tug for both of them, Elrohir wondered if the silver threading was for the purpose of more easily facilitating a hand-hold – "…or nervous. You must appear as if you are at home."

"At home?" Elrohir hoped Uncle would hear him this time, "No one could possibly feel at home in a Great Hall with a ceiling that is hundreds of spans above our heads and we are surrounded by multiple balconies of hundreds of people watching our every move."

Uncle paused. "You are mistaken," he said. "My father feels perfectly at home there. And given the public interest in you both, there are likely to number in thousands along the roads of Tirion."

Elrohir tried unsuccessfully to swallow the lump in his throat.

Uncle sighed. "Do you not remember a day of triumph on the field of battle somewhere?"

Elrohir thought for a moment, "I remember Cormallen. There was much celebration and excitement…"

"Indeed. How did you feel that day?"

"Elated. We had an un-looked for victory."

"Remember that feeling as we progress. It will help you school your emotions."

Elrohir glanced at his brother. They exchanged a smile at a shared memory.

"That is ideal!" Uncle said. "Now, we will leave the house in five minutes, progress by foot along the main way – that will give the townsfolk a chance to see you – and up to the palace grounds. Mind your step on the way – it would not do to arrive with your clothing or shoes soiled."

Outside their escort was waiting. Elrohir noticed that they kept well back from them. Armed with ceremonial spears, their purpose was more for crowd control than protecting them.

At first he wondered if Uncle had been exaggerating about the crowd. A few people came out of their houses and watched them pass, but they only lined the street one person deep. He sighed. Not so bad.

Until they passed into the main square. Elrohir felt his insides twist. People shouted and called out to them. Maidens waved and giggled. Young men watched enviously. Husbands and wives smiled and pointed to them.

He felt his unease returning, when Uncle nudged him in the back. He used a long blink to focus. Cormallen. The Dunedain of Gondor cheering and praising the victory. For the time being, evil was destroyed and the kingdom was restored…

…and they were across the square, passing the outer palace gate. He allowed himself a small sigh. The palace doors beckoned with what he hoped was a moment or two of semi-privacy. He shared a glance with Elladan. They both quickened their pace. As the passed the threshold, Uncle clasped their elbows and propelled them into a side room.

Elrohir had hoped to see a steward bearing a tray of wineglasses, but the room was completely empty.

"What do you think you are doing?" Uncle hissed in his ear.

"What did I do wrong?" he asked.

"You could have been seen quickening your pace just now. It looks like you want to get away from the people…"

"…well…"

"You do not want them to know that!"

Elrohir hung his head and Elladan followed his example.

Their father came in behind them. "I doubt anyone will have noticed…" he began.

"Someone always notices!" Uncle snapped at him, startling them all. "I do not apologize, Lord Elrond. There will only be one chance to complete this day faultlessly. So much of your futures depend upon success."

He gave them no more time to ponder these words, immediately ushering them back into the entry hall and pressing them up the staircase. Elrohir could hear the sounds of at least ten pairs of feet following. Once they reached the fourth level, Uncle allowed them to slow down. Elrohir noticed the attire and bearing of the occupants of each level increasing in importance as they ascended. Clothing ranged from plain silk to fabric so heavily ornamented that he wondered if it restricted the wearer's movements. Hair colour varied as well, with dark browns and blacks largely giving way to paler hues. He pictured himself as a lump of coal amongst the gold and silver.

The yellow sunburst devices adorning each of the outer doors of the Great Hall, loomed overhead. Elrohir imagined the weight of either one as ample to crush him to death. In the highly polished surface below the house emblems, he caught a clear look at two elf-princes he did not recognise. Tall, lean and graceful, they seemed to carry the memory of an ancient majesty. Clad alike in silver-grey with a much understated tracery of delicate mallorn leaves adorning their collars, they wore a darker grey sash around their waists adorned with more of the mallorn-leaf embroidery. Long black hair rested about their shoulders, braided with fine silver thread, framing fine-chiseled elven faces that would have been handsome if not shadowed with anxiety. He began to wonder what could be troubling the elf-princes so, when Uncle's face appeared next to the one of the left.

"Do not fear," Uncle's spoke in his ear. "Forget my earlier criticism. You are the pride of your ancestors today. If the king's brother himself could see you, he would be boasting of you for weeks afterward."

Elrohir felt himself smiling slightly. If only it were true…It was all a charade, a mockery. He was play-acting a part and the truth would quickly be exposed. He felt his hands beginning to tremble slightly along with an inexplicable twitch in his lower lip. He willed himself to stillness, frustrated that his limbs would not seem to obey. He caught his father looking concerned and scowling at Uncle. Elladan appeared to be looking around for means of escape and seemed to be seriously considering a window – four storeys up or not.

Uncle stepped between them pulled their foreheads close to his with each hand. "Go, if you wish," he whispered. "I cannot ask you to perform thus for my benefit. It was wrong of me. Of all of us. I will ask the guards to show you out."

Elrohir felt the tension drain his limbs slowly like infection being drawn from a wound.

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* * *

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Arafinwe Ingalaure Finarfin, High King of the Noldor in Tirion creased his brow faintly, indicating a moderate amount of irritation. What could have caused the delay? He looked around quickly without moving his head. The collection of nobles and gentry were beginning to fidget. The frown on his daughter's face indicated that she was no wiser than he concerning these events. Celebrian stood with her – poor child, always looking a little pale to his estimation – at this moment looking as if she might shed tears. Earwen gave him a firm look.

A low murmur of voices held the distinct timbre of what was usually the beginning of gossip. Gossip was like a feather pillow torn open on a windy day – impossible to contain once it started. And it was also potentially counterproductive.

He stood slowly and the murmurs began to subside.

"Assembled gentry, nobles and my own house of Tirion," he held up one hand for added affect. It worked. "I ask your patience for this morning's proceedings. Keeping all things in their proper place sometimes requires additional time but is well worth the effort."

There was a low buzz of assent. They waited.

Galadriel spoke in her daughter's ear and took a step down from the dais…

The double doors opposite the dais opened. The door wardens stood aside. The king was pleased to see his son enter with Elrond beside and a step behind him. He caught a flicker of strain on the prince's face as he took his place beside him and quickly took his seat to diminish the affect on those watching. Elrond and his sons – finally looking the ideal of elven princedom – paused just inside the entrance. The king smiled. The effect of them together brought a chorus of gasps from those watching.

The three of them could almost have been brothers – but three brothers born together had never happened anywhere in elvendom as far as the king was aware. They were certainly possessed of a unique beauty, even after their assimilation process. Hair like polished strands of jet he could forgive them – Elladan and Elrohir were the first of his house to have dark hair – since their father was also descended from his brother's children. Grey eyes were common to the Noldor, but sorrow and joy had given them deep wisdom. Elrond brought back to him a little of his brother's blood, but his sons brought a poignant summary of all who had been lost to him since the Departure. The very last of his descendants born in exile to return to him.

The three of them began to look uncomfortable and he realized he had forgotten to gesture them forward. They approached, Elrond taking his place next to his wife and the brothers stood alone before him. He took the time to study them more closely as his secretary read out their names, barely noticing as 'Elured' and 'Elurin' caused a flutter among the observers. There was still a degree of uneasiness about them, but also a calm acceptance as well. They were able to stand tall and still with their faces impassive. It was a remarkable effort, given their background, and for the first time, the king found his heart sincerely warming for them.

At the ending of their name-listing, which had become quite lengthy given their exploits in restoring the human kingdom, they calmly knelt. He was not sure which one offered his hands first, until he repeated the traditional Oath of Fealty. Elladan. His hands were stiff and tense in his and he clasped them gently, in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. Elrohir's hands trembled so appallingly that he reached for them before he was even finished speaking, grasping them firmly to still them, apparently startling the young prince for he looked up at him. No one is supposed to meet the eyes of the king at this moment, so he quickly covered the gesture by cupping Elrohir's cheek, silencing an apology before it reached the prince's lips.

Word forms finished he took one of their hands in each of his own, standing them either side of him to show his acceptance of them as his vassals. There were noises of approval from the observers. Now was the perfect time.

"And I bestow upon them the duel lordship of The Mountain-keeps over the Lalaith and their surrounding lands, which they must restore and encourage to prosper. I pronounce this according to the authority of my realm. Let all take heed."

The galleries erupted into deafening amount of noise. The king smiled. He enjoyed this kind of announcement. Anyone connected with the royal house would now be madly competing for position at the reception, with unwed daughters sent home to don their most attractive gowns and groom their hair to perfection in the hopes of catching the eye of one of the young princes he had just made irresistible. He turned to Elladan on his left. The young man was staring at him with astonishment. At least he hoped that wide-eyed, open-mouthed and alabaster white expressed astonishment. He verified Elrohir making the same response.

The king gave the crowd only the minimum of time before he led his new vassals from the Great Hall. The uproar and excitement followed them until his study doors closed behind them.


	14. Chapter 14

**Celebration**

Elladan took several deep breaths of parchment-scented study air, barely aware of his father's affectionate kiss on his temple. Finally, a steward with a goblet of wine appeared. He had never been so grateful, and thanked the steward profusely, much to the man's bewilderment. He looked for his brother just in time to see him swallow the contents of his goblet in one gulp. They shared a slightly dazed grin and closed the distance between them. Elrohir pressed Elladan's forehead to his with his free hand.

"See how they always look to each other first."

"As brothers should."

Elladan turned his head to see Finrod watching them with the king. He recalled his manners.

"Our apologies, My King…"

The king held up a hand, a smile spreading across his face. "Take your ease for a moment. As will we all." He indicated a collection of richly decorated chairs and couches.

They waited for the king to sit before following. Elladan pulled his brother beside him on a couch. There was a knock at the door and a guard admitted another elf.

"Ah, Lord Dior," the king greeted the newcomer.

Elladan felt his heart lift. Dior threw himself at them both embracing them energetically. Elladan could not contain his laughter as the couch tipped dangerously.

He allowed himself to soak into the moment as the room filled with mildly overexcited laughter. He and Elrohir were acknowledged princes of Tirion and lords of their own lands. The worst of the day was over. All that was left was to get through a bit of dancing and polite introductions and he and his brother were free.

"If we might return to the occasion of the present?" the king arched an eyebrow.

Elladan disciplined himself. Time to begin the gentle descent home – with a façade of propriety.

Finrod beckoned to an attendant. The prince withdrew two silver circlets from a box and placed them on Elladan's and Elrohir's heads, slipping them carefully into place. He was surprised that it was quite comfortable to wear; in fact he could barely feel its weight. He tilted his head from one side to another experimentally but the circlet remained in place. He was forced to admit that properly fitted circlets were a much better option than cord bindings threaded through a gem's setting and knotted at the back of his head.

Finrod was smiling at him, brushing his jaw with a thumb affectionately. Elladan felt mildly foolish.

"Do not be anxious, we all find circlets inconvenient, which is why you do not see any of us wearing them on a daily basis. You probably did not notice that yours are etched with a Silmaril design. After all, Earendil deserves some remembrance."

Elladan found himself feeling suddenly grave. Something tugged at the edge of his consciousness, like a forgotten errand. He felt the outer robe slip onto his shoulders, less heavy than he remembered. He glanced at his father who was also donning a circlet and his own outer robe. His father smiled into his eyes as he grasped his upper arms, bringing a smile to his own lips, despite his unease. Dior also squeezed his shoulder quickly as they prepared for the palace ballroom.

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* * *

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The sounds of voices and laughter told Elrohir that the number of people behind the ornate ball room doors numbered at least one hundred. So much for the small reception they had been promised! He glanced at Uncle who returned it with a wink. It occurred to him that even Noldo princes acquired habits from their non-elven neighbors.

They entered through the double doors as an attendant announced their names again. This time they were received with cheering. Elrohir felt heaviness in his limbs that threatened to turn him into the likeness of stone. Someone grasped his arm beside him. Father. He kept his sigh of relief as light as possible as all eyes in the room were upon them. Whispers behind hands and sidelong smiles took a more accurate measure of them than in the throne room. He noticed a considerable number of finely dressed younger maids edging their way to the fore, hoping to be noticed. He scanned the room, but only noticed dark, silver or golden heads.

The ballroom itself was not what he would accurately call a room. One end had been completely opened to the outside air, ingeniously designed doors pushed to either side. He assumed that there was some kind of garden beyond them and made a mental note to make his way in that direction. Enormous multi-paned windows arched over them, giving view to the sky. He could not yet make out any stars beginning as the light faded to a deeper blue, but he surmised that it would not be long. How quickly the day had passed.

Father tugged his arm and they began progressing the room. He saw his brother some distance away with Dior and Uncle. They had split up to save time. Not unlike skirmish tactics for a goblin rally, he thought.

He spent the next while putting all his effort into keeping a politely interested tone in his voice each time he repeated: "I am honored to make your acquaintance…" to stern faced elf-lords and their wives. He quickly lost count of the number of simpering young ladies who smiled up at him like elanor blooms in the grass.

Just as the effort of maintaining a veneer of polite interest was becoming insufferable, Father pulled him aside to a quiet alcove, closing the curtains. Elrohir sank onto a cushioned stool and sighed explosively. Father laughed quietly as he also rested beside him.

"You are doing well," he assured him and they rested quietly for several minutes, listening to the continued hubbub of voices outside. "My son…" Father never hesitated for words. Elrohir studied him. "I know that this is not what you foresaw for your life, this business of performing and pleasing crowds of strangers. I know that you do this for my honor more than your own. I want you to know that I…value your efforts."

Elrohir could not think of a reply. He rested his head on his father's shoulder, suddenly remembering many previous occasions of doing so, but not recently. He felt his father respond with an arm around his back, giving his shoulders a brief clasp. He wished that they did not have to return to the gathering and could remain where they were until everyone had forgotten about them and gone home. His father's continued embrace and cheek resting on his head encouraged him to do just that.

At first he thought the lull in the sounds of the party was merely part of his emersion in the moment. But gasps and squawks of surprise told a different story.

They both sat up. Elrohir burst from the alcove first. Elladan was with Dior, the two of them looking mildly alarmed, but completely unharmed. In fact their attention was focused on a scene near the open end of the room. Uncle was making his way towards it with an expression that Elrohir had never seen him use before. Anger. Furious anger.

"We do not know anything of your accusations! We have never seen your Arvernien or Sirion or whatever other name you wish to call it. How can we be responsible for the actions of our kin who died before we were even born?"

It was Alassiel. Elrohir began to push his way through the crowd.

He did not expect to find Alassiel and Alasse being confronted by a Maia. The being taking an adversarial stance to the two helpless maids certainly appeared more than elven. The light radiating from him was dazzling. His golden hair and skin seemed to shine with white light. Piercing blue eyes pinned the two maids as cruelly as spears. Elrohir did not normally hold with males being referred to as 'beautiful', but this creature was something beyond an ordinary male and terrifying in his wrath.

Elrohir was saved from constructing a way to intervene by Uncle.

"You overstep your authority, Mariner, if you think to harass two innocent maids in my father's court." The edge in Uncle's voice made Elrohir shiver.

The being turned on Uncle.

"I have authority to do as I please, so do not try to direct me, Prince-king. Innocent? Their house has brought mine and that of my spouse to ruin and death, yet you wish to unite them. Yes, I know of your scheming, son of Finarfin. You would use my issue to patch a hole in your own government, thinking me too powerless, or perhaps too _careless_, to thwart you."

"No one is being put to any task that is against their will, Mariner."

"You seek to plot their wills like you plot a campaign. I will not allow seed of mine to consort with the kin of murderers and thieves."

Elrohir admired the courage with which Alasse and Alassiel withstood this scorn. He saw Alassiel's lip twitch just once, and a moistening of one eye. He wondered how many times she had endured something like this. How much was the pain amplified by like memories? How terrifying to be so ill-treated by one of the Maiar, who could burn a person away with a glance?

He pushed his way forward, noticing Elladan joining him. They exchanged a glance. No one threatened unarmed women while they stood by.

The movement was not wasted on the Maia. Elrohir felt the being's eyes strike him, burning only briefly, and then subsiding.

"Sons of Elrond," the being acknowledged them both, "beware that sentiment and inexperience does not lead you astray. Your mother's kin seek to use you to force alliance between the royal house of Tirion and the dispossessed house of Feanor."

Aching silence descended upon the room.

Uncle bristled. "What little is left of either house might both be served by finding reconciliation. Tirion is not the place for division, but wholeness!"

A murmur broke out amongst the spectators. Accompanied by a number of huffs and pouts, he noticed.

Elrohir found his voice. "We do not hold the innocent to be responsible for the actions of their kin. Crimes may conceal a broken heart. You are mistaken, Maia, if you think we have not suffered the kinslaying. We are more than qualified to offer forgiveness on behalf of our house."

"Forgiveness?" the Maia stepped towards him studying him intently, while at the same time he seemed to shrink in size and power. Elrohir was reminded very sharply of Mithrandir who could appear as gentle as a babe if he wished, but quickly become as formidable as a balrog. "Let forgiveness be at their expense. Do you not see how they are trying to manipulate you into an _unsuitable_ marriage?"

Elrohir heard Alassiel or Alasse make a small choking sound behind him. He glanced back quickly, seeing Alassiel's head lowered. Elrohir found himself coldly angry for the first time since coming to Eldamar.

"My brother and I can decide the suitability of our marriages for ourselves, Maia, unless it has very recently become the concern of the higher kindred for some reason."

"It is my concern," the Maia insisted, "because _you_ are my kin. You are my house and unless there has very recently been a change in the customs of the Eldar, it _is_ my concern who you choose to marry!"

Elrohir glanced at his brother. Elladan had no explanation either.

The Maia snatched Elrohir's hand and pressed it to his heart while using his other hand to slowly brush the circlet on Elrohir's brow and then to cover his heart. Blue eyes every bit as intense as Uncle's burned into his. Elrohir stood transfixed for an infinite moment.

Slowly he drew his hand away and moved out of the Maia's reach.

"I do not know you, Mariner," he said. The spell was broken.

Those gathered around them drew breath together with what seemed an absurd amount of noise. Elrohir turned in time to see Alassiel following Alasse through a narrow servant's door. He and Elladan followed as noise and activity erupted around them. They pushed through the suddenly hectic crowd, too slowly to stop the door closing after a brush of copper hair. Elladan reached the small handle and pushed on the door, closing it behind them. They were in a short passage way that by the sounds of it led to the kitchen. Elrohir saw a heavy cutlery cabinet. They moved it behind the door.

But there was no sign of Alasse or Alassiel in the kitchen and the scullery hands had not even seen them pass.

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**Sorry for the delay folks. This story seems to be getting more and more demanding!**


	15. Chapter 15

**.**

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**Fifth Interlude**

It is a strange existence I lead. Removed yet able to observe. I had not realized that the Silmaril I bear could make such a change in me. After so many years, it has become a part of me and I of it. It sings in my mind like an Ainur and sears my flesh from within.

My journeying takes me close to Eldamar on occasion. Anyone who wishes to see either the silmaril or myself can come. There has sometimes been quite a throng of folk. Every person in Tirion, I judge, at one time or another.

Every person except _him_. I could have gone to him, but I did not. I wanted him to come to me.

Why did he not come? Why? _Why?_

I have used the Silmaril's light to watch events unfold over Arda. I cannot set foot upon mortal shores or I will die, that is a condition of my veneration, if you could call it that, but I could watch all that transpired.

I had failed my sons. Failed to protect them from captivity and the isolation of our kind. I wanted to see him, to know him, to tell him…but he did not come.

From above I watched as my sons were taken by a son of Feanor to live in his house, Had he laid a hand to them, I would have broken my bindings and stopped him. I was still young then, and I'll warrant I could have survived long enough to cut a couple of Feanor-spawn throats.

I wanted to tell him that I would have protected him, but he did not come.

I watched after the War of Wrath, when yet another took my place in his life. More to my liking, but still presuming to stand in the place reserved for me.

I wanted to tell him.

Over his house I kept vigil. I held my breath as the valley dwellers withstood a siege and later another. I offered light on the evening of his wedding. I watched as the children were born. I wept as the youngest one stayed behind. I smiled as each of the young chieftains scampered about under his watchful care.

I wanted to tell him.

I watched as his ship arrived at Avallone, as he was greeted and embraced by others he had known and loved. I waited for him to come to me but he was never among the many curious elves, nor were his sons.

Why didn't he come? _Why?_

I could not ignore what was transpiring. How could no one intervene when the last sons of my house were being groomed for a wedding to the house of murderers?

I would not fail to protect them from being used as pawns of an elf king.

After the two brothers, Elladan and Elrohir had left after the two copper headed women, I made to follow.

But then he confronted me. At last. And all the things I wanted to tell him stuck in my throat.

He looks like his mother, with black hair and grey eyes, and the less angular, yet beautiful features of a Sinda. I might never get this chance again and my words washed out of me like a deluge.

"I wanted to come for you I did not want to leave you with a killer I did not want to give you up for dead I did not want to leave you all alone I did not want another taking my place I wanted…I wanted…"

I had spoken in the Quenya speech, my birth tongue, without thinking. He must know it, he was a loremaster! But he made no response. Stared at me like some lost curio.

Then I realized why he had not come. I was no more important to him than any stranger he might pass on the streets of Tirion. I had watched over the events of his life, his griefs, his victories and his joys. I knew him. But he did not know me. I was no more than a figment of faerie to him, less than a stranger in fact.

If I wanted to talk to him I should have started at the beginning, with 'dada's' and 'bubba's' and the like.

And now it was too late. Not content to leave him an inheritance, I had burst in on his life midway unasked and unlooked for. He might have forgiven me for abandoning him to fulfill a great destiny. He could not forgive me for destroying the kinship that he had found when he had no other.

_I do not know you, Mariner_. He did not have to say the words that were still echoing in my mind. Elrond and his sons are as alike as fathers and sons could be. He and I as un-like as could be. How did he learn to be such a loving father? Not from me.

I howled my anguish like a beast and the gathering scattered like frightened minnows. I staggered from the king's palace like a drunkard and did not stop until I was once again at the helm of my ship. Elwing cannot come with me on my journeys and for once I am glad. She would only nod wisely, unsurprised by this evening's events but too kind to say 'I knew as much'. I would have until the next pass-by to consider the fortunes of my house. It was too long and not nearly long enough.

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**Please R&R folks! I have returned this story to the LOTR archive so that it is easier to find.**


	16. Chapter 16

**Balconies**

"Alasse," Elladan called again. There was no response.

He was sure they were in there. Elrohir had seen a soft light in the window that had gone out as they approached. He shivered. This street in Tirion was one that most people avoided almost superstitiously. While he knew there was no reason to be afraid – it was just a street of houses, most of which were empty – but something reminded him of Rath Dinen, Minas Tirith's street of the dead.

They had searched the woods of the carvings, the wooded paths where they had gone hunting and even the little weaving house where the young women traded their ribbon and fabric.

The house on the High Street that the women shared with their mother and father was the last place they wanted to look. Elladan found himself stealing sideways glances at the towering house at the very head, its gilded fixtures and marble veneer garish in the moonlight. It looked for all the world like a dry skull of some long dead king, still wearing his tarnished crown. For a brief moment, he wondered what the sometime king of the Noldor would think of the brothers' presence in his street. Again, the great double-doored house reminded him of a smirking skull. _As dead as any second-born_, he thought hotly. _Your curses are impotent, Feanor the Fey_.

The house Alasse and Alassiel 's family shared was of a completely different design. Pale sandstone edged with well-oiled timber and diamond-shaped window panes reminded him vaguely of Rivendell. Even at night and in darkness, the well-tended gardens and tinkling waterfall spoke of warmth and music. He imagined he could hear a soft noise inside.

"Alasse," he called again. He could think of nothing more to say.

The tinkling of the fountain chuckled at him. _You give up too easily,_ it chided._ You make gallant speeches to others, but you withhold your kindness from those who need to hear it most._

"Alasse and Alassiel," he said. "You are not responsible for the actions of your fathers. Please do not hold us responsible for the actions of ours."

There was no response. Elladan sighed and looked at Elrohir. They began to turn away.

A bright light illuminated the garden and they heard a window swing open. Elladan could just make out the outline of two figures in the window. He willed his sight to penetrate the glare, and discerned two heads with coppery tresses trailing over the sill. Delicate Noldorin features creased in distress. Elladan felt his heart strain, almost as much for Alassiel as Alasse.

"You will become the objects of ridicule if you linger here this night!" It was Alasse.

"We do not care."

"Your Father-father will be displeased." Allassiel.

"So would the first head of your house, were he alive to speak and not banished to Mandos till the end of time. The score is even. We will all displease our forefathers who are either dead or have a singular fate equivalent to death; but in so doing, please ourselves who yet live. Will you not let us in? The night grows chill and the house at the top of the street looks haunted."

Elladan heard a clipped snicker and a moment later lights in the house lit and the front door opened half way.

Alasse and Alassiel peered from behind it, both covering grins with their hands.

"Well," Alasse finally found her voice, "We cannot leave you out in the Princes street with unhoused spirits wandering about. Anything might happen to you."

They opened the door to let them in. An older Noldo couple stood behind them. Elladan thought he recognised them from court but not the reception. Only their daughters had attempted to make an appearance there. The Lord wore a simple robe and plain shoes. His long dark hair was unbound and his gray eyes studied them intently. The lady was also dark haired, but with sad gray eyes that watched them hopefully, clearly taking in their dress and unique features. Elladan surmised that the Lady Lindthiel and Lord Limdur were careful who they regarded as friends, reserving smiles for those they knew well and trusted.

There was a weighty moment before the Lord Limdur beckoned them towards the back of the house, past the staircase and through a side door. Elladan found himself in a pleasant room with soft furnishings and a lamp burning low but steady on a low table. He waited for the Lord and Lady to leave, but instead they took a couch opposite the door and watched them silently.

Alasse and Alassiel became subdued.

"Mother, Father, we promise not to engage in any unchaste behaviour," Alassiel said sullenly. "You do not need to chaperone."

"Alassiel," Lord Limdur said. "We do not yet know the intentions of these two young – or not so young – men. The seed of Fingolfin are hot blooded and impetuous."

It took a full second for Elladan to realise that Limdur referred to Elrohir and himself._ Hot blooded? Impetuous? Them?_

"Well we might say the same of the seed of Maglor," he said, restraining his amusement. "We are not usually given to unchaste behaviour, regardless of what others may have alleged, even while we still bore our Edain blood."

Alasse gave her parents a pleading look. "Mother, Father, please. It has been a distressing evening. Allow us this moment."

To Elladan's surprise, Lindthiel stood up and gestured to her husband. He took her hand slowly, leaving the room reluctantly.

"Please forgive Mother and Father," Alasse said. "They have had to protect us for so long. They had accepted that we might never marry, so the very suggestion of it, so violently announced, has upset them greatly. They are unsure how to behave."

Elladan studied his new shoes – now mud spattered – and thought of what to say.

"This is quite possibly the most awkward moment of my life. I do not know whether to apologise and if so, what exactly to apologise for…" He could not leave it at that. Damage had been done tonight. The image of Alasse's eyes brimming with tears came to his mind. He wanted to undo as much as he could. "I want you to know that we – " he glanced at Elrohir who nodded – "were always well aware of what we were being guided towards…and we did not wish to make any resistance."

There it was said. The words hung in the air between them like…

Eerie musical notes broke the silence. They all started.

Alassiel was the first to laugh.

"It is always doing that," she said. She widened the shutters on the lamp increasing the room's illumination and Elladan noticed a small lap harp in the corner of the room, very like the one his father treasured. "The draught from the kitchen catches it. It sounds like one of your hauntings, does it not?"

They smiled and Elladan wondered if there would ever be a response to his last admission. He could not decide if this was good or bad. How to bring it up again? He studied the harp hoping for some kind of inspiration.

Warm and delicate hands cupped his jaw and caressed his neck. He turned to find Alasse's face barely inches from his own. She searched his eyes, running a gentle thumb along his cheekbone and along his now delicately pointed ear. The gesture sent a thrill down his spine and into his loins. A number of very unchaste ideas presented themselves to his imagination. He thought of his promise to Alasse's father and closed his eyes, placing his hands on her shoulders firmly. He had promised.

The now familiar soft warmth of Alasse's lips closed over his and his eyes opened immediately. He turned a concerned eye towards his brother, only to see him locked in a similar embrace with Alassiel. Alasse's perfume caressed his senses. He forgot all promises in the sensation of her body against his. He longed for the moment to last forever when Alasse pulled away, leaving him gasping slightly.

"That was not very chaste," he said.

"It was only what we have done before. That is 'chaste' between us."

The harp in the corner trilled softly.

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**Sorry for the delay folks. The real world has kept me from this far more interesting one. I hope this scene is not too risqué for sensitive T readers. ;-)**

**Please don't ask me to explain the harp. It's not quite canon-like, but the confounded thing just kept doint that.**


	17. Chapter 17

**Reconciliation**

For the first time in years beyond count, Finrod, called the cave-hewer and once king of his own realm in Beleriand and mighty warrior of the Noldor, felt anxious. He found himself envying the servants bustling to and fro as they arranged tables, chairs, and decorations and discussed minor decisions, such as the arrangement of the silverware, as if it were of great importance.

This night was the culmination of many months of careful preparation and skilful organisation on his part. His sister called it 'manipulation' but he preferred the former terms.

His young pupils of the last – how many months? – he had lost count. It was easy to do that here. He watched as Elrohir strolled in to check on the preparations. He was not yet dressed for the celebration, but something about him appeared well groomed despite his plain leggings and trousers. Finrod smiled. He had come a long way from the shy and reclusive young princeling so unschooled in courtly ways. Elrohir turned towards him and their eyes met and locked briefly. For a moment, he wanted to embrace the young lord. He could vividly remember a time when Elrohir could barely meet his eyes for more than an instant. He was forming the words in his mind when Elrohir addressed him first.

"My lord. Have you seen the Lady Alassiel?"

Finrod stopped short, mildly taken aback.

"No, Elrohir, I have not," he faltered. "She has not been here yet."

Elrohir smiled and he was struck by how dazzling the young lord of the Lalaith Falls was when his face was not clouded with sorrow or pain. This is how he was made to be, he thought. Full of joy and beauty, a reflection of the glory of the One.

For some reason, Elrohir was still discussing Alassiel. "I am given to understand that most women consider betrothal preparations to be of utmost importance. Yet, Alassiel is not most women." He smiled again.

Elrohir was about to leave when Finrod found that he could not let him go.

"Elrohir, you and your brother…" he stopped.

Elrohir waited a respectful length of time before responding to the prince's words. "Fear not, Uncle," he said. "We are not expecting a debacle of the like of the reception the day or our presentation at court. Father and Earendil have made peace. Earendil is still unhappy with our upcoming wedding to two Feanorians, but he has promised not to cause any more fuss. It has been long since that day. He has had time to come to terms with it and to do a little forgiving."

"That is not what I wanted to say to you…" Finrod began, but was interrupted as a voice he could never ignore drifted towards them from the main doors of the ballroom.

"I think you will find that everything has been taken care of, Alassiel. Do not be concerned."

Amarie's voice was like the chiming of silver bells. He turned to her to enjoy her golden hair and deep blue eyes that sparkled merrily. The long wait for her hand in marriage had made their recent union all the more poignant.

"I am sure that all things are in hand," Alassiel seemed slightly impatient. "Alasse and I have left the preparations in more than competent hands…"Alassiel trailed off when she saw Elrohir.

The two embraced closely for a prolonged period of time.

Amarie gave him a smile. "Do you remember?" she asked him.

"Yes," he said patiently. "Young love is oblivious to all else. It will be well when they are finally married and cease boring the rest of us with their calf-eyes."

Elrohir's snort of laughter indicated that he was not entirely oblivious to those around him.

"My apologies, My lord," he pulled away from a grinning Alassiel.

Amarie smiled at her husband. "Of course, my lord did not behave in any similar way before our marriage."

Finrod nodded. "Very well. We were all young and besotted once," He turned to Elrohir. "Now if the two of you have had quite enough for the time being, can I ask if all is satisfactory to yourselves and your siblings?"

"We have no cause for complaint."

"Is Elladan not about this morning?"

Elrohir frowned slightly. "He is always about. He said something about a walk with Alasse."

"Of course he did. Well…good…in fact excellent…then you will not need me any longer," he felt an uncomfortable liberty, as if he had somehow exhausted his usefulness. "I will use the next few hours to catch up on some errands."

He left, Amarie falling in beside him, feeling very much at a loose end.

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Despite the fact that it was always a little eerie, Elladan decided that the grove of the likenesses of the Feanorions was one of his favourite places in all of Valinor. The air was fresh and scented with pine, which reminded him of Rivendell. The pathways were clear and well-tended. The statues provided a sense of silent companionship. And no one else ever came here.

"They will be looking for you at the palace before long."

Almost no one.

"Good morning Alasse," he said. "I would be glad of your company."

He pulled her into an embrace and she complied warmly. He held her for a long moment, enjoying the sweet scent of her hair and its smoothness against his cheek.

"It feels like so long we have waited for this day," he observed.

"Mother says waiting is good for the soul. It makes one appreciate Eru's gifts when they arrive."

"Your mother is wise."

"It takes wisdom to appreciate wisdom."

"And wisdom to appreciate the wisdom of appreciating wisdom."

The laughed lightly. Elladan shook his head. He would never have thought himself capable of taking pleasure in such foolish talk. But any talk with Alasse was as sweet and wholesome as honey.

There was a faint, unfamiliar movement of the air about them and they separated quickly, wondering who would come to their grove. Elladan noticed Alasse blush deeply when she identified the newcomer. He turned and saw someone he had not seen for some time.

"It is good to see my former patient so whole again. Since you have not made a return visit, I took it upon myself to check as to your wellbeing."

They bowed low. Irmo, also known by the land of which he was master, Lorien. There was silence until Elladan decided that he must be expected to make some kind of response.

"My brother and I are now content and strong, Lord Irmo. We have had no need of return to your care."

"Indeed." The Vala smiled upon them quietly for an unhurried period of time. Elladan felt like he was being subjected to yet another of the being's scrutiny of his internal organs and skeleton, ensuring that all was in its proper place and making its proper function. He felt Alasse shift at his side.

"That is indeed well," the Vala continued. "Then you will be fit for the task that I wish to ask of you."

"Name it, and it will be done."

"Do not be too hasty!" Irmo said, a gentle smile warming him. "You have yet to hear what I and my brother will ask of you both."

Elladan bowed again.

"Elladan – Elured as you were known." He paused and Elladan wondered what the significance was of the use of his former-name. "There is one who has been in the care of Mandos longer than anyone has cared to enquire. He suffered a less than happy childhood with a father who loved him but liked him little. He wishes to return to life to comfort others who have lost so many, but we cannot heal the loss of a childhood that was not steeped in sufficient love and joy."

Elladan thought of his own childhood in Rivendell. It had seemed as if nothing about him could displease either his mother or his father. He had been gifted with another childhood to overlay the violent memories of the first incomplete one.

"Lord Irmo, I can not imagine a more fitting way to redress an unfortunate childhood than the awarding of another in better circumstances."

"The care of a reborn one is not something that we can request of any two wedded ones. Only of two who are suitable. Will you accept this child as your own?"

Elladan looked at Alasse. Her eyes softened. He thought again of his father in this life. And of Dior. He smiled.

"What is the identity of this child?" he asked.

"That is not pertinent. He will reveal himself to you when he is ready or you may guess. I will tell you only that it is a male child. Blessed by the One with with gifts beyond the reach of others of your kind. He has suffered much in his previous life. He needs a mother and father who will love him as a mother and father should."

"We will accept, of course." Elladan found himself grinning broadly. He was to have a son. A son of his own that would never be taken from him by age or war. Alasse smiled at him so sweetly that he felt stirrings of desire to sire this child immediately.

Alasse laughed. "You promised me you had no unchaste inclinations," she scolded. "All things in due time."

Elladan thought that the next year of betrothal was going to be an impossibly long time.

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"Where have you two been, Brother?" Elrohir was finding his brother's secretive mood infuriating.

"Alasse and I were visited by the Lord Namo and asked to complete a task."

"If you are not going to give a serious answer then do not bother!" Elrohir huffed as an attendant fussed with the buttons on his collar. He decided that now was not the right time to get accurate information from his brother. Guests were arriving. Despite Uncle's best manipulations, there was tension in the air. He hoped that none of the tension would spill over into any hostility.

Elrohir checked his pocket. The ring fitted to Alassiel's finger seemed tiny, as if made for a small child. His own fingers seemed overlarge and clumsy by comparison. He found himself longing for those slender fingers clasping his own.

"Are you both quite ready yet? We do not want the guests becoming restless."

"Yes, Father," Elrohir smiled. "We are ready."

They took position either side of their father. As they entered the ballroom, he took note of who was present.

To one side he saw Uncle with Dior and Nimloth, his mother and Galadriel with Celeborn. Behind them were a number of other faces he was less sure of and even a few shadowy figures of disembodied ones. Even unhoused kin were lending support to this union. It struck him again that this betrothal was of significance vastly beyond his own immediate sphere. They were all weary of division and opposition.

On the other side of the room he immediately recognised Limdur, Alassiel's father. Beside him was another solemn, dark haired Noldo woman: Mithiel, the wife of Maglor and Lindthiel's mother. He smiled and nodded to the group, and was rewarded with smiles in return.

Movement at the far end of the room caught his eye. Lindthiel, the mother of his beloved came into view. Behind her and to either side were Alasse and Alassiel. Alassiel's eyes shone when they met his and he felt his own eyes moisten in response and his face form a broad smile.

Tension evaporated from the room as the four of them exchanged rings. Elrohir slipped the silver band onto his right forefinger. It fit comfortably, as if it was always meant to be there. He barely heard the official announcements, but registered the sighs and smiles of those around them and it was enough. Alassiel's face held all of his attention. He stroked her coppery hair with his ringed hand, bringing a sweet smile to her face. There were small noises of amusement from the spectators. This was not exactly protocol, but he decided that he would not always adhere to strict protocol.

For a moment the room faded away and he saw Alassiel and Alasse playing with a small dark haired boy whose features remembered Alasse's but held the colouring like to Elrohir's family. And then there were other children, girls and boys. All would come in time.

Warmth spread through him that seemed to come from the depths of his soul.

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	18. Chapter 18

**Epilogue**

I had always thought that reflection was for deep, introspective persons, like Father or Erestor. Not soldiers like Elladan and myself.

I was a warrior. There was a job to do. It did not require much deep thought. Our enemies needed to be defeated and I could have told you more than a hundred ways to kill an orc.

Even now, I still do not quite recognise the one who stares back at me from the polished glass. I had never been one to spend much time in front of mirrors, but my reflection still does not quite match the image I have of myself in my mind's eye. Uncle says that he will be satisfied when they are a perfect match. I do find that for the first time in many ages, I do _like_ the person I see in the mirror. When I first shared this thought with Uncle, I was not sure if he would understand, (was I being vain? Conceited? These ideas were quite new to me) but he responded by wrapping his arms around my torso – a strange habit of his – and told me that he liked him too.

When we could finally delay the call to Eldamar no longer, I believed that it meant some kind of end. We were a pair of hollow, steel soldiers who had outlived our usefulness. The Valar would surely unmake us.

All we really knew about Eldamar was the error of our ancestors. Though we had been told, we did not truly understand that it was a place as much as Middle Earth, with people, customs and expectations. How much our life in Middle Earth had defined us! I cannot speak for my brother, but my mind had been filled with weapons and warfare for so long that I had forgotten that I was alive.

It was then that I realised that so much of myself had atrophied. I do not mean my physical form – battling the enemy always kept me in prime condition, even to the envy of some. I refer to the parts of my inner self that I had neglected.

Uncle taught me to dance. And to live. To my utter astonishment, I could do so much more than I thought or believed.

Instead of dying, I learned how to dance. I remembered how to smile. I saw the stars – really saw them – for the first time. (When the bandages finally came off, the sky was filled with them. They held me captive until dawn. Uncle said that I had caught their brilliance in my new eyes.)

At first, I could hardly meet the gazes of my own kinfolk in Tirion. This strange new world seemed to have me closely hemmed in on all sides with buildings, boundaries and unfamiliar people. Rooms everywhere seemed to restrict my breathing like over tight armour. Walls blocked the view of the surrounds, preventing me from getting the lay of the land. And anywhere that there was not a building or a wall, there was a person wanting to talk with me, demanding conversation that I scarcely knew how to make.

Now the world seems open, and only _adorned_ with buildings, framework and other people. Buildings no longer seem confining, merely convenient resting places. Boundary walls only indicate definition, not restriction. Unfamiliar people are merely people I have not met yet. I am now able to view others as potential friends, not threats.

I hardly recognise the creature I once was. A slightly ragged, worn out warhorse, ready for the fate that ultimately takes all broken down horses. But my brother and I were born for another purpose after all. It was not only our sister who had a destiny to bring restoration to royal houses. Arwen (her name still brings a little tug of sorrow to my heart) was to restore the kingdom of the Edain. Ours was to finally close the rift in the royal house of Tirion. When we finally wed our brides, two long separated families will finally become one.

Elladan seems especially eager for this to occur. We spend some time apart now, so he has to share his news with me when we are together. He is excited that he and Alasse will have a son. (He is evasive concerning how he knows this exactly, much to my irritation.) At first I feel a shadow of old fear. I am not sure that I am ready to be a father, but Elladan says to think of Estel. A little one in our house, but one that will not leave us to go where we cannot follow. I feel my anxiety lessen. We need not be afraid to love this one too much.

Uncle spends relatively little time with us now. Galadriel let me in on a little secret. It appears that Amarie has not yet told Uncle that he will soon be a father himself and that will keep him out of our affairs from now on. Or at least she hopes it will. For my part, I will miss him. When someone has been at your side for a long time, I think you are permitted to miss them when they are absent.

Alassiel is most often at my side now and I find that I have quickly become accustomed to this arrangement. I told her of the vision of our future together, and she did not seem surprised. She has waited a long time for such a vision, she says, and I realise that my brother and I are not the only ones who have been lonely. Eru desires healing for all who are afflicted and his purposes always move to that end, even if we have to wait for a very long time.

At last it seems to me that destiny is no bad thing to be feared and shunned, but to be embraced and lived. For the One has a purpose in all he creates and is powerful enough to use even his most broken creatures. The future will bring its challenges, but I will be ready to meet them.

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END

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**Well folks, here we are at the end of this story. I am undecided what I shall write next, a sequel or possibly a Silmarillion fic based around the Fall of Gondolin and one of Tolkien's most undeveloped characters.**

**The story of Elladan's son may have to wait for a while, but I am sure you will all have a splendid time trying to guess his identity.**

**Blessings!**


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